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My friend told me the secret to hiding in the dark: contortion

y0uyxe

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0uyxe/my_friend_told_me_the_secret_to_hiding_in_the/

When I was in high school, my friends and would hang out late into the night on weekends. We wouldn’t do anything in particular, really, just hang out and do stupid shit. If any of you are familiar with the invisible rope trick, that was one of our favorites. For those who aren’t, it’s when a group of idiots would line up on either side of the road at night and pretend to pull a rope taut as a car was coming. If the car stopped, we’d run away; if it didn’t stop, we’d pretend to fall over as the “rope” pulled us forward, then run away. So yeah, we were pretty much just a typical group of dumb teenage boys. Anyway, one night my friend Jeff got the idea that we should play hide-and-go-seek at the local elementary school, Hillcrest. The notion came to him as we were hanging outside of the local Safeway, bored and sipping on the Monsters we just bought. “What are you, twelve?” DeAundre teases, laughing. “Yeah, we can play pretend that we’re pirates after that too.” “Fuck off, man,” Jeff shoots back, defensively. Seeing that the rest of the group is smiling, Jeff relaxes and grins to save face. “I’m just saying it’d be hella fun at night. Hillcrest’s huge, and it’s got those woods out back that’d be perfect.” “Yeah, perfect to have me freeze my ass off while your bumbling ass tries to comb through, oh I dunno, an entire fucking forest at 1 in the morning,” I say deridingly. My bud Wade giggles and mutters “Bumbling” to himself and then goes back to dicking around on his phone. “Ok, fair point, forest’s off limits. Come on, you guys got any better ideas? And Paul, if you say we should go ‘ghost hunting’ one more time, I’m finding new goddamn friends.” “I wasn’t going to?” Paul turns his hand palm-side up, subconsciously spilling some of his Monster with his other hand. “Shit. No, I was actually gonna say that sounded kinda fun if you weren’t a dick about it.” “Bro, I can be a dick and still be right,” Jeff chuckles. “So Paul’s down, and he’s basically the size of two people, so that’s like half of us right there.” Paul throws his hand up in exasperation and lets out an “Asshole,” before taking his phone out and pretending to check something. “Fine man, at least it’ll give me a break from having to deal with your shit,” DeAundre says before starting off toward the school. Jeff gives a cheesy smile before heading off in the same direction and the rest of us follow, sparing the empty parking lot from having to listen to our bickering. It’s a brisk October night and the leaves have just begun to fall. All is quiet and peaceful aside from the occasional car or murmurs from a backyard gathering that’s persevering into the early morning hours. It feels cozy in that sort of eerie way you can only get in the suburbs, where there’s just barely enough going on to remind you you’re not alone, but not enough to stress you with life’s usual background noise. I wish they still felt that way to me today. We walk along the sidewalk kicking through leaves every so often, DeAundre leading the pack and the rest of us paired up. Despite the earlier exchange of words, Paul and Jeff are chatting away amicably. Paul had developed a thick skin over the years we’d known him from Jeff’s relentless teasing, so by this point he’s quick to forgive and forget. I think they’re talking about World of Warcraft builds or something, a topic I’m not too familiar with. Wade and I, on the other hand, just walk side-by-side mostly silent, taking in the beautiful night. I’ve known Wade since we were little kids, so it’s a comfortable silence. I appreciat that about Wade; he wasn’t much of a talker, but when he does say something, it usually sticks with me. That’s why when he turns his head to me and breaks the silence, I listen intently. “You know, in scouts, they told me the best way to hide from someone in the dark was to take up a real unnatural pose,” he explains to me. “Everyone’s always expecting to see a dude just standin’ or crouchin’ there, so if you’re all twisted up, they’re gonna just glance right past you.” I stare at him blankly. “Why the fuck would you need to know that for boy scouts?” “To hide from Scout Leader Brandon, of course, dude was a creep,” he chuckled. “Naw, it was because we played a lot of games at night, like capture the flag. I even won a few games by sprawling like a weirdo on the ground when I had the flag. The other team would just run past me, then I’d sneak back to our base.” “Huh, good to know,” I reply. I must have a skeptical tone because Wade follows up with “Naw man, I’m serious, it works. Just watch, Jeff’s never gonna find me.” “Alright man, well I’ll believe it when I see it.” Before long, we make it to Hillcrest with its sprawling campus. What it doesn’t have in jungle gyms it makes up for in sheer acreage. There’s a huge, open field with cones set up for soccer and plenty of room to spare for other games. Lining the perimeter of the campus are huge bushes and trees of all sorts, shielding the school from the view of the neighboring homes. The school itself is a modest size, dwarfed by the vast open space surrounding it. “Yeah, ok, woods are definitely off limits. This place is way bigger than I remember.” The others and I nod in agreement, thinking about which areas we would try to hide in. “Who wants to be ‘it’ first?” “You, man, you’re the one who wanted to play,” DeAundre says. “I’m tired, I’m tryna take a nap.” “Fine, ok but you guys have to leave your phone volume on,” Jeff says, slightly irritated. “I get one free call per person to help me find you.” “What, that’s gonna make it way too easy,” Paul says. “You wouldn’t be saying this if you didn’t have to be ‘it.’” “Dude, no, this place is huge; it’s gonna take any of us forever to find each other. Look, fine, half volume, one call per person, final offer.” Eventually we agree to the conditions and Jeff begins counting to 100 without warning. The rest of us promptly scurry off. Before I break off from the pack, I look over and see Wade eyeing a back alley on the side of the school where the dumpsters are. I guess the guy is dead serious about winning, but I’m not about to sit next to a steaming pile of garbage for half an hour. I can just smell the sour cafeteria milk. No, I’m going straight for the bushes out back. Jeff says the woods are off limits, but he didn’t say anything about the bushes right before it. By the time I’ve gotten there and crouch down by the base of a rhododendron, I’ve completely lost track of where everyone else could be hiding. No one else is in sight. I’m completely alone. Minutes and minutes pass uneventfully, and boredom begins to take over. My knee is starting to hurt, so I resign to getting my ass dirty and just sit crisscross applesauce on the ground. Eventually I see what looks like a phone flashlight off in the distance; must be Jeff scanning around, and I think I hear 2 voices from that direction. I guess Jeff has already caught someone, probably Paul. Paul never fully commits to the games we play. After a time, they disappear, and I am once again left entirely without stimulation for about 3 more minutes. But then I hear something. Heavy, crunching steps coming from the right of me. Are they coming from the woods? No, I must just be imagining that. It must be Jeff coming to find me. Then, all of a sudden, they stop. Being careful not to make a sound, I adjust my position to get a better look from inside the bush, but can’t see anything except the dimly-lit backside of the school. Eventually the steps start up again and the silhouette of a hulking behemoth of a figure lurches into view. Could that be Jeff somehow fucking with me? Does he know where I was already and has some sort of makeshift costume to scare me shitless? I don’t have much time to think before my phone starts ringing. Jeff or whatever that thing is move with a start at the noise I scramble to get my phone out and turn it off, but I fumble and drop it before seeing the caller: Jeff. God dammit, Jeff, fuck you and your stupid last-minute rules. Eventually I decline the call and the sound stops, but it was too late. The figure is already moving in my direction. Panicked, a million questions rush through my mind: could this thing really just be Jeff? No, how could it be? Should I make a break for it? Maybe, but I’m scared so shitless that I can’t even move. What do I do? I’m paralyzed, and all I can do is watch the thing inch ever closer, and with every step, I feel I could make out more and more details of its shape. It looks like it has knobby, human-like appendages of all sorts hanging limply off of it, swaying whenever it moves forward. Yes, there are definitively some human hands that I can make out, most of the time just dangling limply, but occasionally flexing suddenly and contorting like it’s seizing up. What in God’s name is this thing? What am I going to do? Then I remember what Wade had told me. Without thinking, I suddenly twist myself into the most convoluted shape I can muster. I wrap myself around the base of the bush, its branches poking into my stomach uncomfortably. I twist my arms back with my fingers jutting out in all manner of strange directions, doing my best impression of a bush. My legs are so far apart from each other that I’m practically doing the splits. It’s painful as hell, but I hold that position for dear life and try not to make a sound. The steps get closer and closer. I can hear the cracking of fallen leaves, the shifting gravel, and eventually, something else: wet, labored breathing. It’s an extremely deep, phlegmy noise that grows louder with each passing second. All I can do is wait and pray that Wade and his dumbass boy scout troop know what they’re talking about. After the longest wait of my life, the footsteps stop right outside of the bush I’m in. Realizing what this means, I struggle not to panic. I can’t even breath to calm myself; instead, I just start counting in my head. *One.* I see gnarled hands with broken fingernails reaching into the bush above me. How many are there? No, I can’t focus on that, I have to just keep— *Two.* The gangly hands grasp blindly at the branches of the tree and feel around, searching for someone. Who? Oh God, that’s right, it’s looking for— *Three.* I feel something touching my left leg. It has to be some sort of animal, it can’t be— *Four.* Whatever’s touching me grabs my leg and I have the urge to break free. No I can’t, I have to just stay— *Five.* I feel its cracked fingernails running up and down my leg, its fingers poking and prodding and squeezing and— *Six.* I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to— *Seven.* What’s that? I hear what sounds like beeping from the other side of the school. All of a sudden the hands retract and my leg is free. Why is it— *Eight.* The creature begins to walk away from the bush. At least that’s what I think it’s doing. It must be. Oh my God, I’m not going to die. Oh thank God. I stay perfectly still in the same agonizing position until I can no longer hear the horrible steps anymore, and then 5 minutes after that. I scramble to get to my phone and see 3 more missed calls from Jeff. Making sure my volume is still off, I call him. “Dude, where are you?” Jeff answers. “I give up, man, I gave up a long time ago. You, Wade, and Paul aren’t answering.” Whispering, I say “There’s something out here, it almost killed me.” “Oh fuck off with that shit, man, I’m done, someone else has to be it,” Jeff retorted, dismissively. “No, I’m serious, man, something fucked up is going on,” I blurt out, my voice shaky. “Jesus Christ, alright man, just meet me at the basketball court.” The call ends. Peeking my head out of the bush and making sure the coast is clear, I sneak out and head toward the front of the school, trying not to lose it. I have no idea what I’m dealing with, so I try to be as careful as possible. Finally, I see Jeff and another figure in the distance; is that DeAundre? That’s right, Jeff said Paul wasn’t answering either. He and Wade must still be out there. “Fucking finally, dude, where were you?” “I told you, man, I was hiding for my goddamn life. We need to find Wade and Paul and get the hell out of here right now.” DeAundre looks nervous, but doesn’t say anything, just shifting his gaze from me to Jeff and back to me again. Jeff, seeing how visibly shaken I am, begins to seem a little more concerned. “Alright, alright, geez, yeah, let’s find them. Any idea where they went?” “I don’t know about Paul, I just saw Wade head over toward the dumpsters.” “For real, man? Damn, that’s nasty. I figured no one would hide over there. Alright, let’s go.” As a group, we make our way to the opposite side of the school and see the alley faintly illuminated by the school’s cheap, yellow-tinted light. I can already smell the sour scent of trash as we approach. “Alright, you first.” Jeff elbows DeAundre, but DeAundre just silently glares back at him. “Fine, whatever man, everything’s always my problem, huh.” The three of us creep forward with Jeff in the lead. We can’t hear anything except the dull hum of the fluorescent light. I feel like I’m going to throw up. The adrenaline from earlier wearing off, the disgusting scent of trash, and my horrible fear of whatever grabbed my leg are too much for me. But I have to keep moving forward, for Paul and Wade. We make it to the alcove where the dumpsters are, and neither of our two friends are in sight. It’s so silent that I feel like I’m going to scream. But then we hear it: a small whimpering noise coming from one of the dumpsters. DeAundre, Jeff, and I all look at each other, and then slowly approach the source of the sound. “Probably just some animal,” DeAundre whispers, but his tone is unsure. I grasp the lid of the dumpster and turn to the other two, nodding. In one fell swoop I pull the dumpster open, and there, covered in week-old food and trash with his hands over his head, is Paul. “What the fuck are you doing in there, man? Dude, that’s fucking disgusting!” Jeff yells. But Paul doesn’t respond or move an inch. He just stays there, his face pressed into a garbage bag, crying uncontrollably. “Where’s Wade?” I whisper to him. After a time, I hear Paul’s muffled response. “He’s here.” “Where, man? I don’t see him anywhere, cut the shit,” Jeff spits out, now getting visibly upset and nervous. His eyes dash all around the alcove and the alley we came down. And then it hits me. I slowly turn my head into the dark corner of the alcove, hidden from the fluorescent light, and I see him. Contorted beyond anything I thought possible, Wade is propped up against the wall. His arms and legs are broken in multiple places and bent in all the wrong directions, his jaw is pulled out almost cartoonishly, several of his teeth are missing. His back is twisted like a pretzel. His eyes are bulging from their sockets, one of them almost completely out. I point and attempt to scream, but no sound comes out. Thank God for that or who knows what would have happened. It takes a minute for it to register for my friends’ minds before they begin to panic too. We pull Paul out of that fucking dumpster and run blindly, sprinting away. We need to get anywhere but here. The cold autumn air hurts my lungs, but I keep on running and running until I miraculously make it home. It’s been almost a decade since that day, but every October I can’t get it out of my mind. I’ve moved halfway across the country and done weekly therapy sessions, but I don’t think I’ll ever be fully over it. The trauma is too much to handle. The worst part is that I’ll never get any closure. When Wade was reported missing, we told the police where we’d last seen him, but there was nothing there. The body was never recovered. I have to make peace with the knowledge that I’ll never understand what that creature was or what ultimately happened to Wade. But what really haunts me from that night is that sound. That sound from that dark corner of the alcove next to the dumpsters. It wasn’t much louder than a whisper, one might even think that they could have imagined it. But I know it was real. It was the labored, wheezing sound of breathing.

Are You Real?

y0taqg

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0taqg/are_you_real/

"Are you real?" A man rasped from the darkness. I looked around, confused. "Me?" I shrugged, unnerved by the strange ask. The B line swooshed to a stop, and I leapt aboard. Luckily, the guy didn't follow. The train car was empty, something I'd become accustomed to while working grave shift. I sat beside the door, relaxing as best I could on the hard plastic bench. The metro began to slow and the speaker crackled to life. Static lasted longer than usual, prompting me to open one eye. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Across from me, I saw the man. Grinning ear to ear, his chapped lips split and bloodied, he rode from outside the subway. I shot forward in my seat, rubbing my eyes. He was still there. "Are you real?" The speaker called, over the roaring static. No, not static. That was the interference of rushing wind! The train slowed to a halt. In that instant, I shot one more look to find the maniac gone. I picked up my backpack and bolted. Not a single soul walked the streets, not a man, a cat, nor a mouse. I passed the gate into the parking lot, but the tollbooth was dark. "Sleeping on the job?" I choked, desperate for a normal interaction. After a minute of creeping silence, static chirped twice. **Pahh! Patsatsa!** "Are you-" The same man began, but I sprinted before he could finish. The halls were pitch dark. I frantically crashed through the darkness, tripping on a discarded box of empty beers. **clang clack CLACK!** still the hall remained dark, lifeless. "Are you reaaaal?" The man's gravely voice echoed from both ends of the hall, reverberating through my head. I crawled the last two doors until I arrived at my own. I gulped as soon as I saw it… unlocked and ajar. I slammed the door shut behind me, disregarding the potential noise complaint. Right then, my television buzzed to life. In a blink, I locked the door behind me and rushed to the den. No matter what I pressed, nor even when I pulled the plug, the tv wouldn't go off. "We have reports of a missing person…" the tv called, then proceeded to name my name. Biting my nails, I watched as my name and my face popped up. My name. My face. "...has been missing for just about two weeks now. If you have seen them, please contact the authorities right away!" I have been going to work, shopping, hitting the gym. No way in hell have I been missing for two damn weeks. I called every single number I knew. Some even picked up. "I'm okay!" I shouted, only to hear unamused responses. "Hello? Is anyone there?" They would always say, then would hang up. Phone, SMS and all of my other means of communication are gone. This is my last hope. Please, someone, I need to know the answer. That man keeps repeating his question. "Are you real?"

New family moved across the street, there's obviously something wrong with them

y0hbka

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0hbka/new_family_moved_across_the_street_theres/

I live on a relatively quiet street in the outskirts of the city and there’s not much going on around here. So the ambulance siren or just any loud noise is considered as “something happened, let’s take a look”. There’s a nice park and a lake nearby, some small groceries and other amenities around and people here tend to know each other. You know the place. ​ And the life would go on and you would never hear from me if it all hadn’t started that morning. ​ I was having a cup of coffee at my kitchen table, as I always do, when a truck stopped right before my house. It had some branded stickers on sides, claiming that you could book it for moving you in or out, find us at this address & such. Clearly - somebody was moving in, as I’ve later discovered a woman in her forties together with a pair of kids were running back and forth, picking up stuff from the insides of the rented car. ​ Well, it doesn’t happen that often here, that somebody moves in or out. I guess people find our area “boring”, and probably expensive, as there’s much more cheaper options around the city. ​ So I’ve sipped my drink and examined the newly arrived neighbors. They looked completely fine - just a regular family of three, with a woman, who looked tired and some siblings, who were exact opposite - full of life, walking around with cardboard boxes and shouting at each other. ​ The strange things started to occur in the evening. I was munching on my dinner, as a motion in the windows across the street caught my attention: the house with the new folks, formerly known as Old Rosie’s last resort (God bless her soul). ​ The new family had the dinner too, except there was one interesting detail to it: they all sat around the large oak table, where Rosie used to play Solitaire all the time. The food was served and it all looked like a regular family evening, except for that thing at the head of the table. I had to look twice. There was a human shaped doll placed in the chair, with its arms laying on the desk. It seemed to be made of some crude fabric, like a potato sack, or something similar, with the poorly drawn face and some hair, which was a used mop, I guess. I was not quite sure, due to the distance and my eyes not being as sharp as they used to. ​ I’m not kidding around: they had a human sized doll at their table and the weirdest part was that it seemed they were talking to it, as their heads turned to the scribbled face as if they were paying attention. Of course, it was none of my business - maybe the family is coping with the loss of their beloved one in such a manner, maybe it’s some sort of therapy, or even - maybe they are a bit weird and have the imaginary friend for some reason. Who am I to judge? I, myself, call my coffee machine Sebastian, and thank him every time he provides me with a fresh brew. People are strange after all. ​ The next morning they were having breakfast in the same manner - Mom, kids and the doll, whom I believed was the Dad of the family. I had a quick chat with Lester, while picking up the morning paper - he saw it too. We agreed that though it was a bit weird - it’s not quite polite to interfere into other’s life and spread rumors. And then switched to discuss yesterday’s game. ​ Later that day a knock to my door interrupted me from reading. I went to check out the guests, and who would you expect that to be - the newly moved smiled at me. ​ “Hi! We are the Browns, my name is Julia. We got here just yesterday. Looking forward to be neighbors with you, so please accept this as a Hello-we-are-new gift. Nice to meet you” - the woman shot the words with a sincere smile, passing me an apple pie. ​ “Oh wow! Welcome, Julia. What a delight to see new faces around. Thank you very much” - I’ve responded. ​ “If you don’t mind - we have couple of questions about area around here, so if you’re not too busy - maybe visit us for a dinner sometime?” - she said. ​ “What's the harm?”- I thought to myself. Besides, I would settle the mystery with that doll of theirs. Maybe this poor woman needs some support and shoulder to cry on? ​ “Absolutely. That would be a great pleasure” - I’ve replied. ​ “Oh, great! I’ll ask my husband to get his grill ready then. See you soon!” - she said, leaving me a bit confused. ​ Husband? Maybe I’ve missed something? I didn’t see any male in the house across. Wait. What if their Dad is a pilot, or a sailor and that strange sack is indeed their way to “keep him around” while he’s on his trips? Anyways, I was intrigued to hear the explanation. ​ And so - that evening I’ve put on my suit, grabbed a bottle of wine and knocked on the door of Brown’s family. ​ “Welcome-welcome!” - Julia greeted me with a smile - “Please come in. George is on terrace, grilling some meat and I’m wrapping up, so I’ll join you soon. ” ​ The smell of beef touched my nostrils. It was nice. I went trough the hall, the living room (where the table was served already) and straight to the terrace, where the grill was supposed to be. ​ “Hi, I’m Mitch. Nice to…” - I’ve stopped in the middle of the phrase as I saw him. Or it. I don’t know what suits better. ​ The sack puppet, wearing an apron leaned to the wall next to a burning grill. Its poorly drawn face was directed towards me, so I saw the crooked smile and the curvy nose. Somebody attached the spatula to one of the arms and placed a can of beer next to it. ​ “George, huh?” - I think I’ve said it aloud - “well, your meat is about to get burnt, George”. There was something uncanny in this comical situation. Imagining that this sack is an absent person is one thing, but dressing it up and expecting others to accept it as normal - that’s something else. ​ “Kids, dinner!” - Julia’s voice from the kitchen returned me to reality. ​ I went back to the room where the queen of the house was placing the dish of mashed potatoes on the table. ​ “I’ll wash my hands quickly and join you” - I’ve said. “Oh, please. Be our guest. Did George mention when he’s ready with the food?” - she asked. “No, ma’am, he did not” - I’ve replied. “Oh, I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression. Sorry. He’s just not talkative type, so sometimes people find him rude” - she smiled. ​ I’ve washed my hands and returned to the room, where the kids already took their chairs and the steaming pile of steaks resided on a serving board. George was there too. Just as I’ve seen him before - sitting in the head of the table, no apron or spatula this time, though the beer can still with him. Another weird thing was the smell. The room smelled of lavender and orange peels, as if the sack was stuffed with it. Not the freshly cut ones, no. Dried. ​ The dinner officially began and I was bombarded by Julia’s questions: any wild animals around? Which store has the best seasonal discounts? Have I heard of any football activities for children? Any crime reports in the area? ​ I’ve tried to answer those as good as I could, but there were more incoming. ​ Soon enough the kids were done with their meals and were excused to leave from the table. We were sipping the wine I brought and Julia seemed tireless in her attempts to communicate. ​ When suddenly she asked: “So, what do you think?” ​ “I beg my pardon” - I’ve got confused. ​ “I mean, George’s suggestion. What do you think about getting out for some fishing with him? Sounds fun, right?” - she turned to him and back to me. ​ “Look, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but having this human sized doll sitting at the table is already something weird, and I’m not even mentioning that part where you pretend it’s a real human and such” - that’s what I wanted to say, or at least thought at the moment. ​ Though these modern times are really complicated, you know. Modern people are fragile, they don’t make folks like they used to. It’s so easy to hurt somebody’s feelings by saying obvious things. And I’m not the type who wants the beef with the neighbors. Yes, I’m an old geezer, who lives alone and doesn’t even have a dog, so people expect me to be a harsh old fart who doesn’t care about anything else than his Bingo weekends, but that’s not true. ​ Anyways, I gave that thought a moment and decided no to hurt her feelings: “I don’t know folks, this time of the year… My chronic pains are usually my only entertainment and my back is killing me each time the rain about to drop… Let’s say ”maybe“ and see how it goes”. ​ She didn’t seem moved by my “old man’s problem” card, so just replied: “Oh.. I hope you feel well. That would be a delight, if you’d manage to. Right, George?” - she turned to him. ​ “All right, I guess it’s time to wind up and head to my pillow. Thank you very much for invitation, folks. Gorgeous food. I wish I could return the favor, but my skills end with slightly burned fried eggs and TV Dinners” - I laughed. ​ “Always, you are welcome. Thank you for all the info.” - Julia stood up from the table, intending to walk me out. ​ I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, checking on George for last time (God, what a weird woman), and for half a second, I swear, I saw that his smile inverted, giving him a somewhat upset and angry look. Or was it just the wine? ​ I’ve walked home, thinking about my experience in the Brown’s house. This woman seemed to really need some help. The kids looked weird too, talking to George, telling him how their day passed, but they are still kids, you know. The power of imagination and such. What kind of grief was bound to this lady’s heart so she decided to act this way? I had no clues. This was not normal, that’s for sure. ​ Suddenly I’ve got this nasty feeling, you know, like when your skin goes goosebumps and the hair at the back of your neck itches a bit - as when somebody stares at you, and you’ve just felt it. ​ So I looked through my kitchen window to the house across the road. There in the dark, hidden behind a curtain. Somebody was there, looking back at me. Or something. I guess Julia, who was standing there realized I see her and in a soft motion the silhouette moved out of the window. Strange. ​ Next morning I’ve almost spilled my coffee - George was “standing” in front of the window, gazing with those poorly drawn dots of his eyes. Maybe it’s just me, but it felt… terrifying, considering the details I’ve discovered about this family yesterday. But as I’ve returned the cup to the drawer, after washing it - he was gone. Are they messing with me? ​ In the evening he was by the window again - this time both of his arms on the glass, as if somebody taped them to make his posture. I’ve had enough, so I rolled down the blinder and called it a night. What a bunch of weirdos… ​ Morning after instantly erased the negativity, as it seemed that Indian summer kicked in - the sun was shining brightly and the bird songs greeted the warmth. I went down for my morning ritual and pulled the blinder string to let some of that sunshine in. ​ My heart shrank to a tiny frozen lump as my action revealed George leaning on my window, both arms up as if he was trying to look through the glittering glass. I’ve rushed to the door, being sure that those brats decided to pull a prank on me, but as I’ve opened it - there was nobody: neither kids, nor that hellish puppet. ​ I’ve tried to calm down, picked up a crossword magazine and took my watching position. I had to see it with my own eyes to make a proper blame and come up with argument. If those people are tossing a huge sack doll around - I would definitely see it. But nothing happened. I haven’t seen George or the rest of the Browns family. Were they satisfied now? Almost leading the old man to have a heart stroke? They’d better be. ​ So I put my magazine aside and went to get some sleep. Things escalated quickly from there. ​ I woke up at 4:00. Not that I’m complaining, but the older you get - the harder is to keep it, if you know what I mean. Though this time it was different. As my mind came back from slumber I’ve instantly realized that something was wrong. I’ve looked around - everything’s in place, no sudden noises or whatever. What’s wrong then? ​ And then it hit me - the smell. My room was smelling of dried lavender and orange peels. I’ve jumped from the bed, with all the power my old body had and hit the light switch. Nothing. Just this intense smell all around. And couple of threads and tiny sack patches by my bedroom door. I was outraged, full of boiling fury and anger. ​ I went straight to their door, knocked and ringed and then ringed and knocked, but nobody opened. I’ve shouted at the door and behaved like a complete madman, I guess. Until finally interrupted by Lester peeking out with a flashlight, wondering what was going on. ​ As I write this - I have my old hunting gun on my lap and a mug of coffee provided by Sebastian. Why am I writing this? That’s simple. If this message won’t get updates - something bad happened. I don’t know what exactly, but I have some theories. But, yes, if this message won’t get updates - make sure to check out if you’re getting new neighbors knocking on your doors. It might be nothing, or it might be the Browns.

I'm A Rookie Deputy Working On A Long Dark Highway. (Part 2)

y0tc7w

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0tc7w/im_a_rookie_deputy_working_on_a_long_dark_highway/

(First: https://redd.it/xt53az Next: https://redd.it/y6at51) “I don’t know why you do those crossword puzzles. It's not as if you can spell worth a damn.” Rusty, my partner grumbled. “They get me improve spelling weird words. Besides, what else do you have to do all night besides help me with this?” I asked tapping his shoulder with the thick puzzle book. We worked as deputies for a small area. Most nights we just parked on the highway waiting for something to be called in or ticketing speeding cars. Most of the shifts went by slowly and I took up doing crossword puzzles. Rusty was right, my spelling needed work. Thank God for spell checkers but the printed pagers weren't as forgiving. I ended up asking Rusty how to spell a certain word or two at the start of the puzzle to get me going. He acted tough and grumpy but deep down I knew having a second person in the car beat being alone no matter how much they pestered you for a five-letter word for five minutes. I would have liked our job to be boring forever, but in the first three weeks of working I discovered that things lurked in the dark. We come across something I still wasn’t entirely sure of and Rusty didn’t want to overly explain it because he didn’t want to scare off his new partner, or he didn’t fully understand either. Though, he did mention that supernatural occurrences didn’t happen often and we should be in the clear for a while. A sound tore through the night followed by a car flashing by where we parked, swerving and darting all over the road. A second later a call came over the radio saying a drunk driver been reported heading our way. I called over say we were in pursuit and Rusty gunned it. He always drove and, in this case, I felt happy he did. The driver got spooked by a cop car suddenly pulling out from behind them. They did the dumbest thing possible and went as fast as their beat-up car would let them. Rusty stayed back a little way to be safe. If this car slammed in the breaks, we didn’t want to ram into them. With drunk drivers their actions were unpredictable. We followed the car on a wide turn and it disappeared for a second. When we came around, we saw the tail end of the crash. A white large figure darted out into the road, stopping in front of the car. The driver didn’t have a chance to avoid the shape. The car hit the figure, then went off the road into the trees. We drove by unable to stop in time. When we passed the shape, I saw it looked like the same kind of creature we came across a week ago. Pale white arms scattered on the road and blood covering the asphalt. Rusty pulled off to the side of the road a bit away from the crashed car. We both got out, he went towards the creatures remains and I went towards the car. The front end smashed but the driver door open with blood coming from it. From the looks of things, the driver got out and stumbled into the woods. They needed medical treatment right away. I heard Rusty shouting for me to stop. My beating heart and breathing heavy from running made it impossible to hear his words. “Sam! Don’t-” I caught that much just before my foot hit the grass off the road. Then, nothing. The entire world changed in a blink of an eye causing me to stumble. I tripped directly into a tree that had not been in front of me a second ago. The world so dark without the lights of our car. Grabbing the flashlight off my belt, I looked around trying to see what the hell just happened. I stood in the middle of the woods. That did not make any sense. I’d just been on the road and shouldn’t have gotten this deep into the trees. I called out Rusty’s name, hoping he heard me. My light caught a color that made my heart sink. Blood covered the leaves that littered the ground. I thought of the driver at once. There wasn’t that much blood, but enough to make me worry and follow the trail. Low mist crept through the trees which didn’t make the place look any less unnerving. I walked, trying to stay as silent as possible. Maybe I should have asked for a transfer... I couldn’t dwell on that kind of thinking and needed to focus on finding the injured person so we could get out of here. A shape between the trees caught my eyes. Pale fingers came out from around a tree to hold the bark, scratching at it with long finger nails. My mouth opened to call out to the person hiding, wondering if they needed help. Another hand came causing me to shut my mouth. Then another. Soon the entire tree became wrapped with pale hands from behind. Each going upwards in a line tearing at the bark. I couldn’t even see how high the line reached. I wasn’t having any of this. I turned and ran, no longer caring about the noise I made. My eye caught the trail of blood again. Against better judgment, I pivoted to follow it. As I ran, I kept seeing those hands coming out from behind the trees but not the source of them. A bundle of them blocked my way from following the blood trail. Gritting my teeth, I ran right through them. Nails scratching as my exposed skin, and one stole my radio from my belt. With everything happening so suddenly, I didn’t think to use it until it was gone. At least I got through with only one long cut across my cheek. I run as a hobby. A weird hobby I know, but it came in handy as I kept up my pace away from the hands. I was only human and couldn’t keep it up forever. I paused long enough to catch a second wind, frantically looking for the trail when I thought I lost it. My beam of light shone between the dark trees landing on a different shape. Something tall, very pale and covered in veil like sheets. My chest froze. It reminded me of the quick glance of the creature I saw before. I turned my head knowing seeing the monster in full meant a fate worse than death. A scream echoed through the woods making me jump. I had my gun but didn’t think it would be useful. Still, my hand flew to my side ready to draw it if needed. Any normal person would have run away from the screaming. I went towards it, ignoring the figure in the distance silently watching. Screaming meant something bad was going down. My job was to help. Most people might call me either crazy or brave for running towards danger but I never considered myself as either. I saw this as my job. And my job needed to be done. Fear still tore through my body as I ran towards the screams. Pleas for help kept my feet moving forwards. Along the trees another sound drifted through, a cruel laughter enjoying my fear. I nearly tripped over an exposed branch causing my body to go off course and slam into a tree. I stopped for a moment, dazed. Sweat dripping down my face and heart racing. Something brushed against my hand and I jerked away thinking a spider just crawled over it. To my horror, a pale hand darted back behind the tree. I wasn’t even close to being safe in the slightest. I needed to keep going. Another scream rang out. I picked up the blood trail again to follow that and the screams just praying I wouldn’t arrive too late. In the middle of my run, I thought I spotted the road through the trees causing me to stop again. The cries for help were so nearby, but in the other direction of the road. I didn’t see any cars or had any way of contacting Rusty. I left my cellphone in the car and the hands took my radio. I could save myself or keep trying to find the person in the woods. Regretfully, I stuck to my job. “I'm close by! Please yell if you can hear me!” I shouted, my flashlight scanning the trees with a shaking hand. I didn’t hear the person but caught sight of them. They were on the ground a few feet away, bloody with clothing torn. I shouted when a pair of hands grabbed them, dragging the person deeper into the woods. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, and that wasn’t good enough. Knowing I wouldn’t get to the person on time, I dove forwards, skidded across the rough ground. My fingertips touched theirs but a hand grabbed my ankle to pull me away so fast, I couldn’t react. My entire body tossed aside with that same cackling laugh coming from the woods. I stood up, fuming, seeing red. I got turned around when I was thrown and didn’t have the slightest clue where the injured person got dragged off too. “Stop messing around and show yourself! "I shouted into the woods, voice becoming hoarse. “That person needs treatment you bastard!” I stood waiting for a response, chest heaving with each breath. A twig snapped behind me and I lost any sense of bravery I once had. The cold air stinging my sweaty face making my shoulders shake. I listened for more footsteps. When none came, I started running again. In a few steps a set of powerful hands grabbed me from behind, I shut my eyes just in time. Those hands kept me in place and titled my head back, forcing me to look upwards if I kept my eyes open. “Oh, how quick of you. Here I wanted to keep you in these woods. Do me a favor and open your eyes for a few seconds.” The low raspy voice let out a laugh that made my entire body react in a negative way. My teeth chatted but I kept my eyes shut and waited in the darkness for this monster to do something. “Give back the driver.” I demanded, but not sounding brave at all. “Why? Didn’t they break the law? Are you going to.... what is that word?... Arrest them? I gave you a chance to leave on your own. Why try and rescue a human like that, hmmm?” The monster questioned. More hands fell on my arms, they griped just tight enough to be painful. Another set of hands came to my face to run long fingers across my cheeks making me try and move out of their grasp without any luck. “My job is to serve and protect. I need to protect that driver from you.” I explained finding at least some strength to put into that statement. “Protect a criminal?” It said in an amused voice. “I don’t get it pick and choose. It's serve and protect for everyone. If not there isn’t any point to it, now is there?” In an ideal world that would be true. I knew at some point in my life, I may come across a vile human that didn’t deserve my service. I hoped that never happened while I worked with a small police task force. The driver did break the law and endanger other lives but that didn’t mean they should be condemned to death for it. I heard the monster laugh again. Something got close to my face and I felt soft fabric brush against my cheek. “I’ll make you a deal little human. Open your eyes and I’ll return the driver.” The voice said in a low whisper directly in my ear causing me to shutter. I swallowed hard. Opening my eyes meant dying, or something I didn’t even want to think of. And this monster might not even be telling the truth. The choice heavy in the air and the creature waited patiently for my answer. At least I didn’t have anyone to miss me. Rusty would get over his new partner not coming out of these woods soon enough. My nephews young enough to forget about me in time. I cracked my eyes open, seeing white in the darkness. Before I opened them the rest of the way, something came over them to cover my sight. I felt the monster come closer, the veils it wore spilling over my face. The arms bringing my body closer against something that felt like a pile of thick branches all jabbing into my back. I waited for the monster to remove the hand from my eyes expecting death. Then a soft feeling came to my forehead as if something been pressed to it. “What a silly little thing you are. Didn’t even try to bargain. Taking you now simply a waste. I’ll enjoy tormenting you but for now you held up your end of the deal. You may leave.” All those hands fell onto my back and pushed me forwards. Something happened to all the strength in my body. I fell forwards completely limp, smashing my face into a ground much harder than the forest ground. I stayed on the ground, dazed and pain slowly coming in waves. A rough set of arms picked me up and back to my feet. Rusty shoved some napkins against my bloody nose trying to clean my face up. He wasn’t very gentle and I think he made it worst. “What in fuck’s name happened?!” He demanded. I knew he was angry that I ran off into the woods. Well, I stepped on the grass but that counted so I’d been snatched up by the forest. He was shocked I came out alive. I shook my head of the hazy feeling to look around for the driver. I found myself standing on the empty highway, the car still crashed against the tree and our cruiser flashing lights off to the side. “The driver I... the monster said it would give them back.” I stammered not seeing the other person. On cue, the monster held up its end of the deal. A loud crack rang out when a shape literally fell from the sky. Rusty jumped away cursing. No one could blame him for that. I collapsed back to the ground seeing a broken body of the person I'd wanted to save. If they were alive before the fall, the hard ground took care of that. Blue and red lights colored the silent scene and Rusty needed to drag me to my feet again. He let me sit in the car trying to process everything that happened. Due to this stretch of road being home to some supernatural creatures, people were in place to clean up the mess they caused. The body taken and returned to the family to be buried. The cause of death listed as a car crash due to the man drinking and driving. Our dash cam didn’t record much past us driving by the mangled car due to manufacturing issue. At least, that’s what was released. In truth, when the forest took me all the electronics in the area got fried. I needed a new phone and Rusty told me I needed to get use to that sort of thing when dealing with this job. My partner suggested I took a day off. I refused. The morning after the accident I was coming out of the station at the end of my shift ready to go home and then go to work that night. On the way out I ran into someone I expected not to see again. The white-haired child from before. He scowled seeing me and I stopped on the steps, blocking the door by accident. “Is your partner in?” He asked trying to sound reasonable. “No, he already left. Do you want me to leave a message?” I offered looking down at him. I held onto a small bag with a doughnut inside. Someone did a coffee run and got it for me just before I left. The boy’s eyes kept darting towards the bag but was too proud to ask for it. “No, I wanted to give him some updated information. I refused to help you and my words are a great help. I can wait until a later time to tell him.” He said and made a motion to leave. “Do you want this? I’ll trade it for some information about what I saw last night.” I said, feeling as tired as I sounded. He took five seconds to think of the offer. The bag snatched out of my hand and he waited for me to speak again. I didn’t really know what to ask so I went for the first thing. “What was that monster I saw last night? He had a lot of arms and veils, I think?” I questioned. He waved a hand as if this wasn’t an important question but answered anyway. “That is the forest itself. He is made up of things found in the woods. Spider silk hair and veils, antlers for a body and anything else it can collect. I believe it’s just a body made to speak with humans on a more even level. You could never understand what that forest really is and this is the closest thing to a form your human mind can deal with.” The boy said ready to leave. “Human arms though? How does it get a hold of those? It's not as if they’re really a part of the woods.” I mentioned. The child stopped, giving me an intense look through his white hair. “Hikers go missing all the time. Their bodies are eaten by animals but also used by the forest for other purposes.” I did not like that mental image at all. The boy reached into the bag to grab out his breakfast without caring he dropped one of the creepiest statements I’ve ever heard. I shook my head wanting to remove the thought. “I thought the woods were like, peaceful and all that. Why is the body of the woods all freaky instead of, I dunno, some pretty tree lady?” I asked causing the small king to look at me mid bite. “Peaceful? Nature is an unforgiving cycle of life and death. You should not place your human ideals upon it.” He went back to eating and I got tempted to pat his head again. No matter how hard he tried sounding like this big scary king he really just looked like any other good kid. He noticed my hand raising slightly and backed away before I could reach him. “I’ll give you a free warning. You need to leave now or you’ll be unable to the next time you encounter something supernatural. You have a hint of the forest smell on you. The more often you encounter things of the night, the more likely you’ll become a target of them. Now that you are aware of them, you cannot go back to how it was before. You can only try and find a place where they are less common. Save yourself now or risk being devoured the next time the forest turns an eye towards you.” His tone dark and statements grim. I was scared of what he said and yet I couldn’t take it entirely seriously because he had a bit of the chocolate glaze on the corner of his mouth. I reached out to clean it off with the cuff of my sleeve causing him to get angry with me again. “What’s your name? Rusty never told me.” I asked the boy who fumed, face red. “Elly! Don’t treat me like a child!” He shouted then realized his mistake. Rusty didn’t tell me his name because he knew how I would react to it. My face lit up and smile grew wide. With another groan of anger, the small boy started stomping away trying to look at my expression. “Elly is a cute name!” I called after him. “Eat it!” I made a very powerful enemy that day. And yet I didn’t care. I needed to hide treats in our car in case we see him again. Rusty is going to kill me though for how I treated Elly. I just couldn’t help it. Cute kids should be treated as such. I felt a little sorry for the boy for being in his position. He tried so hard to act like an adult. He really should be in school having fun with friends, not running around alone dealing with monsters. I was aware that what Elly said was true. If I stayed working this job, I risked my life. Then again, I knew there was always a risk when I became a deputy. Now I just added a new option of how I could be killed on the list. I left the station more worried about how Rusty would ream me out for my actions that morning than any kind of supernatural threat.

It Always Follows Close Behind

y100om

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y100om/it_always_follows_close_behind/

As far back as I can remember, it has been there. Always watching, terrifying me. Even when enough time would pass and I would think I was finally free, it would return. My first memory, when I was four, is the terrified feeling of being watched, while my brother and I played in the backyard at dusk. There was rustling in the bushes by the fence and the face that peered out at me was like a nightmare. It had no hair, the skin stretched so thin it was almost transparent. A thin, long smile that stretched up to the dark sunken eyes. I screamed in terror, and then it was gone. I tried, through my tears, to convince my brother that someone was there but he didn’t see anything. My parents chalked it up to childhood imagination, but that’s when the nightmares began. I would be sleeping in bed, the sounds of a mighty storm raining down upon me. The window would creak open, just a crack at first and then slowly sliding up. The tall, dark figure with the long, thin smile would be there, staring at me. I would scream out over and over, but nobody could hear me. Suddenly the figure would be next to my bed, long fingers reaching out to grab me. I had this dream every week, to the point that I was sent to a psychologist. She was a welcome change in my life, giving me the chance to tell my story without being mocked. When I was 8, I was hanging out at Jonathan’s house. I was supposed to be home before dark, but time has a way of getting away from me. I was hurriedly riding my bike home when the sun set. There was a tree line on the west side of the street, the side of the street that I was riding. The whistling began softly, getting louder and louder until it was so loud that I covered my ears to stop the pain, crashing my bike into the base of a large oak. I looked just behind me and saw a face peering out from behind another tree, the same face that has haunted my nightmares. Fear brought me to my feet and I was running as fast as I could go, not caring about my mangled bike. I told my parents I was being followed and crashed my bike. The police took my statement about the tall, skinny man with the long, thin smile. The nightmares stopped after that. Years passed and I became convinced that I was followed by a man, and that my imagination made it more than what it was; a pervert with a thing for small children. That is, until my 15th birthday. It was summer break and I remember the hot, humid air that surrounded us was overwhelming. My parents had rented a cabin by the lake for family and some of my friends. My parents got cake and my friend’s and I had a blast talking and swimming in the lake. After everyone went to bed, I stayed up a little longer listening to the crickets. It was so peaceful as I drifted off to sleep. The next thing I know I am standing just outside the forest on the other side of the lake from the cabin. Was I dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream, but how did I get here? I had never been a sleepwalker, and it would’ve taken me at least two hours to walk all this way. I suddenly realized I was dripping wet, had I been in the lake? That’s when I heard it, a faint whistling on the wind, it seemed so familiar. I tried to run but was just too tired, the exhaustion getting worse by the second. I opted for a brisk walk in the direction of the lake. At least the moonlight reflecting off the water would light my immediate surroundings. I had to get back to the cabin. I made my way around the closest side of the lake for the next hour or so, falling in the darkness several times. I only had about a mile left of my trek and dawn would be coming soon. The whistling didn’t follow me, but I began to feel a heaviness in my chest, like gravity had increased 10 times and I was being crushed. As I lumbered through a muddy patch of ground with small hills and deep holes, I heard a gargled sound coming from the water right next to me. I stumbled to my knees as I looked over. In the moonlight I saw a head poking out of the water, just a few feet from the shore, the face smiling that familiar long, thin smile that haunted me so badly as a child. It peered at me for a moment before slowly sliding under the water. I moved away as fast as I could, choking back tears. All I wanted to do was lay down and cry. Who or what is this thing following me? When I finally made it back to the cabin I showered and went to bed, telling everyone I was feeling sick. I didn’t want to tell them what happened. I knew they wouldn’t believe me, I wasn’t even sure if I believed me. I had the same nightmares again after that. The rain, the thunder, the face coming into my room lit up by lightning, the thin smile that stretched on forever. I was always scared, always looking over my shoulder. Every time I heard a whistle, I would lose my breath. Again, time went on without incident. I am 26 now and living on my own. As I sit by my bedroom window and write this, the rain is pounding against the house. Every few minutes the lightning illuminates my yard; the fence line, the grass, the bushes, the trees, and the stretched face that peers out from behind them. The long, thin smile directed at me. I don’t know who, or what, has been watching me all these years, but I am tired of looking over my shoulder. I'm tired of not knowing, tired of being afraid. There's only one thing left to do. I will open my window tonight..

The Lone Trick-or-Treater

y0qkqs

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0qkqs/the_lone_trickortreater/

I always loved this time of year, ever since I was old enough to appreciate the joy in it. My father would get just as excited as I would when it was time to adorn our festive garb and begin the quest for sugary goodness. While we passed by other parents walking with their little ghouls and goblins, my dad would just smile at the expressions he would receive, being one of the few who took the season as seriously as the children. Whatever costume I wore, he had something to match. If I dressed as a vampire, he would be my elder, watching over his apprentice. While we would sometimes choose a more fun theme, like the year we went as Shrek and Donkey, with me being the latter, we often went for something far more sinister. Evil clowns, father and son zombies in search of brains to go with our candy, and of course, the aforementioned vampire duo, fit with fake blood splashed across our faces to assure any of the unsuspecting homeowners we would visit that we had our fill for the night; seeking only some goodies for dessert now. I suppose it was that very thing that didn't cause me more than a second glance at the particularly unsettlingly dressed kid while I went door to door with my son last year. As always, the streets were positively packed with extravagantly dressed children; some walked alongside their folks, while others traveled in packs. This one, though; he strolled the sidewalks alone. The first time we passed by him, I was honestly quite impressed by how realistically the blood spatter was applied to the leathery apron. The blank-faced mask that was designed to look like some sort of creepy porcelain doll, had more specs of those crimson stains, looking as though it had gushed from the left. Given that was the hand in which he held the gore-lined butcher's knife, while the other swung the pillowcase half-filled with candy by his side, I had to admire the attention to detail. He was a little taller than my son, who was only eight at the time, but I still couldn't help but wonder why any parent would allow their child to walk the streets alone, even if there were a great many other children out that night. For a moment, I considered approaching the boy to inquire if he needed help, or perhaps wanted to join us, but when Matty vigorously pulled my hand to the right, having noticed another house with their porch light shining brightly, I just let out a chuckle before allowing myself to be dragged to the side. By the time I turned my head back to the road, I saw no trace of the eerie little kid. Following in my father's footsteps, I would never miss spending this time with my son. I carried the tradition of getting equally as dressed up as Matty, allowing him to choose the year's theme, as my dad had with me. Though my boy wasn't quite as much into the scary stuff as I was at his age, I managed to gently nudge him into dressing as zombie versions of his requested Captain America and Spider-kid. "Spider-MAN, daddy!" he would insist whenever I called him that, but it was strangely adorable how flustered he would get in correcting me. "Alright, three-foot Spider-Man," I said with a laugh, to which he giggled and playfully slugged me in the gut, before 'thwipping' to the next house. It was maybe ten minutes later when we passed by the lone trick-or-treater in the porcelain mask again, but he looked a little different. There were a few rips across the sleeves of his stained white shirt, as well as the leather-like apron. It's very possible that I simply hadn't noticed before, but I could swear he had more blood splashed across him now. "I like your costume," he said, not so much as glancing up at me when he walked by. His voice was gravelly and monotone, almost making me think of a fifty-year-old, two-pack-a-day smoker, rather than a young boy. His tone was still as light as anyone whose voice had not yet broken, but the raspiness was nothing short of unnerving. "I like yours too," I replied, mostly sincerely. I glanced back at the kid after he walked by to see there was just as much blood across his back as his front. He creeped me out for sure, but I still convinced myself it was nothing more than an effective performance of one fully embracing their chosen character. The fact that his pillowcase appeared more bulging than the last time I saw him was enough for me to believe he was just really into the season. Perhaps he had a water gun filled with red water tucked away under his apron, to apply more as the night went on. The sticky-looking gore on his knife looked no different than it did the last time, as far as I could tell anyway, so I just shook off my overactive imagination. For the remainder of our night of trick or treating, I only caught one more glimpse of the boy; this time from a distance. Again, he looked as though he was even more bloody than before, but given how far away he was, as well as the darkness surrounding him between the sporadic street lamps, I didn't dwell on it. Once Matty began to whine about his feet hurting, I felt content in the knowledge that we had accumulated more than enough goodies and it was time to head back home. The previously crowded sidewalks had only the occasional group making their way in one direction or another, each looking as wiped out as we were. Moments later, I was carrying my son, with his overstuffed bag of candy looped around my shoulder. He had pulled up his mask to nuzzle his face into the nape of my neck and I couldn't help but smile as I recalled resting in my father's arms this way. "Can I have some candy when we get home," he said, lifting his head, sounding as though he was on the brink of drifting away into Dreamland. "I gotta check it all first, kiddo." "I know, but can I pick something out and you can check that first? I just really wanna…" A wide and exhausted yawn cut his words short, inspiring him to rest his head back into its previous spot. "I just really wanna Reece's cup." "We'll see when we…" When I noticed the silhouetted figure limping out from behind a house on the corner; one that signified we had almost reached our destination, it took me a second to realize who it was. The boy held neither his bag of candy nor the gore-lined blade as he shuffled toward me. "HELP!" he called out as he struggled to push himself onward. It was then that I heard a rage-fueled scream; not from the kid, but from the man who pursued him. As he rounded the side of the house the boy was trying to escape, I saw the far more realistic blood-stained knife in his hand. I knew I had to act quickly, but my first and most crucial task would be to secure the safety of my son. After another quick glance to assure myself the man chasing the boy down had only one target in mind, I set Matty down on the sidewalk, looping the candy bag around his arm. With our home being just on the other end of the street, just beyond the stoop ahead, I gave him one mission: "Run home, Matty! Run home and don't look back! When you get there, tell mommy to call the police, okay?" He just nodded and took off in the direction of our home. I felt my stomach lurch with the thought of him making his way back home on his own, even if it was only another minute or two on foot. Still, I knew I had to get him as far away as possible before I did what I had to. By the time I reached the front yard of the house the boy in the blood-stained apron was staggering away from, the tall and well-built man was almost on top of him. "HEY!" I yelled out as I ran towards them, hoping to get the attention of the man who seemed to growl as he ran for the kid. Taking no time to second guess my actions, I tackled the guy as he lunged at the kid. It was as I raised from the man I had planted to the grass, knocking the knife out of his hand, that I saw the four deep and grizzled gashes across the right side of his face. When the boy in the porcelain mask walked up beside me, pointing his finger at the man, I noticed the fresh blood and tissue caked to his fingernails. "He stabbed me!" he said, hiccupping with tears trickling down his mask, "I didn't do nothin' to him, but he cut me anyway!" The man gazed up at the kid with wide and almost shocked eyes, while still attempting to break free. When I called out, hoping to get the attention of some of the neighbors, he caught me across the face with his fist, instantly causing my head to spin. As he took the opportunity to lunge for the kid a second time, I felt my body roll to the ground while the boy let out a high-pitched yelp. It only took a few seconds for my senses to return, but when I looked up to see the man clutching the child in the blood-soaked apron by his good leg, I had no time to waste. Again, I jumped on the guy, deflecting another attempted attack on my swelling face, while jabbing at his midsection. "Run, kid!" I said, trying to grab the writhing man by his arms to hold him in place. As the boy began to back away, a few other people left their homes to see what was going on. Some of them ran up, quickly assisting me in keeping the man from reaching his target. When I was able to release my grasp on the guy, trying to ignore the pulsing pain from where he had clocked me, I turned to look back at the likely traumatized boy. When I saw no trace of him, I was momentarily worried someone had snatched him up amid all the craziness. I suppose that's just that fatherly instinct, to go straight to a worst-case scenario when it was far more likely that he headed back to his home after such a fright. Still, though I hadn't had a chance to see how badly he was wounded, I knew he would require medical assistance. After a while, the police arrived at the scene, wasting little time in cuffing the man whose blood was still dripping on his shoulder. Paramedics rolled up moments later; one of whom checked me out to make sure my swollen shut eye was nothing more than a well-cleaned clock, while the other attended to the guy with his hands bound behind his back. Nobody knew anything about the kid in the blood-stained apron, nor did anyone have any idea where he'd run off to. Over the next few hours, several more cars rolled up to the house on the corner, just past the stoop. The yellow tape had already sealed the place away from the public by that point, but I had to stick around for a bit to answer some questions. Once I was permitted to leave, I returned to my home to find Matty passed out on the couch, with a few empty Reese's wrappers on the coffee table beside him. I explained everything that had occurred to my wife, before taking a well-earned shower. Becca prepared an ice pack for my eye while I cleaned myself up, which honestly felt heavenly when I held it to my puffy face. It wasn't until the following morning that I walked out to meet the group of onlookers, to see a healthy amount of police doing their job, taking little note of the curious observers. It would seem I had arrived just in time to watch them remove the bodies from the house; those that were buried in the basement. I watched in horror while they carried out the body bags; seven of them in all. The idea that someone capable of such acts lived so close to us was bad enough, but the fact that the subdivision was filled with kids the previous night, many of whom may have knocked on his door, almost caused my breakfast to escape. When one of the officers who had questioned me waved me over as I stared on from the other side of the street, I wasn't sure what else I could offer to the investigation. As two other cops opened up a large trunk they had retrieved; the box that held the 'trophies' this bastard kept to commemorate his foul deeds, I found myself truly lost for words. The blood-spattered, porcelain doll mask sat upon a variety of other objects, each wearing its own faded crimson stains. From what I could tell, all of the items the chest held were from one child's Halloween costume or another, as this was the season in which the sinister owner of the house liked to hunt. The officer kept me somewhat in the loop of the investigation over the weeks that followed, as she was just as befuddled as I was about the child who somehow tore into the face of his murderer from beyond the grave. She admitted she had witnessed more than her fair share of bizarre things since joining the force, but we were both saddened and heartbroken by the crimes they uncovered. After the identities of the victims were discovered and their grieving parents were given the news of the truth of their children's disappearance, we finally had a name for the lone trick-or-treater. The eleven-year-old Zachary Walsh had somehow gotten separated from the group he walked sidewalks with that Halloween night, the year before. He lived in a neighborhood many miles away, but just about everyone in that subdivision looked for him for hours after hearing about his disappearance. Unfortunately, he had likely already been snatched up by the time the search party even had a chance. My heart aches for the boy, as well as the others who lost their lives to that son of a bitch, but I hope their parents at least have some closure now. Given that young Zachary was the most recent of the sick bastard's victims, I can't say why he chose to skip this Halloween, with it being his hunting season and all. I wonder if perhaps we managed to stop him before he had the chance. Maybe that was the young boy's mission all along; to stop his killer before he was able to add a new trophy to his precious box. Halloween feels a little different this year. Yes, Matty is just as excited as ever, but I don't know if it'll ever be the same for me. My son gave me free rein on what our costumes would be this time, as he is quite the perceptive kid. I'm sure he can tell that I'm far more distracted than usual, but maybe dusting off the old vampire outfits my father and I wore so many years ago will get me back into the spirit. Take from this tale what you will; be it just another spooky story for the haunting hour or even the ravings of a gullible idiot. Whatever the case, just please do me one favor: Keep a close eye on your children. Whether they're by your side as they go door to door in search of goodies, or traversing the sidewalks in a group of fellow candy seekers, make sure they know not to stray. You can never tell if the truly horrific monsters of this world look anything like the personification of their nature, or live just a few doors down from where you rest your weary bones each night.

I had to babysit my siblings

y1njtj

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1njtj/i_had_to_babysit_my_siblings/

My siblings were always the annoying type. The type that would bug you until they get the attention they want. One night my parents wanted to go out on a date, so they asked me if I could babysit my siblings I initially disagreed, I never liked my siblings, but my mom offered to get me my favorite fast food on the way back. Finally, I agreed to babysit my siblings; besides, I had to give in eventually, as there was no one else they could call in such a short time. I have a younger brother and a younger sister; they were around eight to nine years old. The first few hours were uneventful until I heard the doorbell ring. I thought it was my parents,s I went to open the door, but then I stopped; they brought a key with them. Why didn't they open the door? I decided to look through the peephole and almost screamed there on our house's porch was a tall skinny figure wearing a top hat and a white mask with a bloodied smile etched into it. I then heard my "mom's" voice "Josh, can you open the door?" My name wasn't Josh it was John. The thing on the other side got impatient and I heard my "Dad's" voice "Josh, you better open this door or I'll kill you!" I turned and ran to my siblings' room and locked it. "Is mommy home?" asked my little sister "No, she isn't home," I said "Stop lying!" Snapped my little brother My little brother got up and stormed to the bedroom door and unlocked it. I urged him not to unlock the front door, but he didn't listen. He stormed downstairs and opened the door. There was silence for a moment before I heard a deafening scream. I ran downstairs and I saw the thing reaching for my brother. I grabbed him and ran back into my siblings' room and locked the door behind us. "What happened? Is mommy home?" asked my little sister "No!" yelled my brother and I "It's the exact opposite," said my brother ​ We heard a demonic voice singing nursery rhymes before stopping at our door. We held our breath before it began to bang on our door. My sister screamed as the banging continued. Eventually, the banging stopped I grabbed my brother's bat and slowly opened the door. I saw nothing out of the ordinary so I slowly walked through my house I found nothing. I decided to call my parents, but I heard screaming coming from my siblings' room. I ran up the stairs and saw the thing looming over my crying siblings I raised my bat and hit the creature. It turned to look at me and I saw its creepy mask close up. It pointed at me and said, "No one can save you now." I raised my bat to hit it again, but it caught it. "I'll cut you a deal," it said "What do you mean by that?" I said "I will take them off your hands if you..." it said "If I what?" I said "If you give me your liver," it said I didn't know what to do. I would lose either way. It began to walk towards me, but then it stopped. I turned around to see my neighbor holding up a bible. It stepped back, opened the window, and leaped through it. "Thank you!" I said "No problem," replied my neighbor "Say, how did you know it was in here?" I asked "Well I saw it enter your house," said my neighbor My neighbor offered to stay with me until my parents arrived. I told them everything, but of course, they didn't believe me. I had never had anything like that happen again. As I am writing this I heard a knock on my door I ordered pizza they came earlier than I expected.

I spent the night in what I had thought was an abandoned water park.

y0x2zn

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0x2zn/i_spent_the_night_in_what_i_had_thought_was_an/

Its skyward trajectory was really like that of a shooting star—albeit inverted. As if with implacable cosmic momentum it had actually shot right through the Earth, piercing the opposing crusts with as much ease as a pen through folded paper. I stood there, perched on the rim of the empty swimming pool—a leaf and filth-strewn bowl into which I had planned to piss—gazing upwards, bewilderedly, as the object soared towards the stars; with which, it seemed, to bear a stellar kinship. But at the height of its arc, it curved, and then began to plummet Earthward; trailing in its wake the same silvery foam that had followed its precipitous rise. Amazed as I was, I failed to properly track its fall in relation to my own position on the planet; and it was only until I closely saw and even felt the tiny motes of that silver-tinged foam that I realized it was going to land within the vacant swimming pool. I immediately turned and ran, expecting at any moment to thrown off my feet by the assuredly calamitous impact of the object with the Earth. But aside from a soft, perfectly supportable heaving of the ground, there was no geologic violence; and turning around I saw that the object had landed squarely within the pool, without even disturbing the environing land. The foam now rose mistily from the crater, casting upon everything a dreamy, ever-shifting film, as of nebulous gossamer. I approached, enchanted by the emanation, unsuspecting of any malice or peril from it nor the object from which it was steadily surging. Peering into that once-empty pool, I beheld the fallen thing in its bareness, and immediately recoiled at the entirely unsuspected sight: for it was a woman, humanoid in shape and appearance, but titanic in size. I guessed that she would stand at least ten feet in height, though she had landed in the pool in the fetal position; or had assumed that position upon impact. I realized with a sort of enthralled incredulity that her silvery, thickly curled hair was the source of the mist-like emission. It flamed wildly, and the coiled locks thereof curled and uncurled at seemingly random intervals; as the tongues of a powerfully burning flame might haphazardly lick to and fro. Her skin was as pale as the high-flung moon, and had I not seen her break through the surface of the Earth, I would’ve thought her to have fallen from that ivory sphere—perhaps descending from its barren, craterous surface in search of terrestrial companionship. Seeing her amidst the grime and dead leafage sickened me, and without further consideration I clambered down into it with the intent of removing her. I even silently chastised myself for having been about to urinate in the place of her earthen rest. But as I neared her body, a thorough coldness came to me, a chill that bypassed my jacket and crept pervasively into my bones. I was briefly halted by the suddenness of the phenomenon, but not turned away; and fortifying myself somewhat against the cold, I resumed the chivalrous endeavor. But as I wrapped my arms around her body—careful to uphold her dignity—I realized that I would not be able to displace her from the pool, because of her immense weight. I am not saying that she was portly or rotund or obese in any way whatsoever; but that, due to her perfectly proportionate though inhumanly preternatural size and stature, she simply weighed more than I could manage. She was a Titaness, and I a simple human man. I released her body, gently and without noise, but something awoke her, and her eyes flipped open at once. I leapt back, for in that gaze—immediately aware and alert—was a frigidness, an inhospitality beyond human capability. *An arctic, anti-tropical malevolence.* Without hesitation, she rose, coming to stand several feet above me upon marmoreal, strongly sculpted legs. Her hair (the curls thereof) flared aloft as if stoked by some cranial furnace; and her eyes, bluer and bolder than a polar sea, glared at me icily; as if I had somehow offended her in my attempts to render assistance. With the cold callousness of a boreal witch or a glacier-dwelling demoness, she spoke; and while I have no way to confirm this, I am positive that those words were not in any tongue of Man, but in the frost-formed phonetics of some *Northern Kind*, interpreted into English by her winter-wrought sorcery. “You, who would lay unfrosted hands upon me. On what land do I now stand, and in what era? I augur **His** coming, and demand to know the name of the region to which He would first emerge.”   As if a sickle of ice had chiseled the words onto my eardrums, I cringed at their icy crispness, responding only when the accompanying sensation of frigidness had ebbed away a little. “This is Missouri—you've landed in the city of Wentzville, Missouri. In the year 2022. Who are you talking about? Where are you from?” My voice faltered at the last question, and a horror joined the cold to doubly assail my nerves. She repeated the name of the city and state, trying them out on her sky-blue tongue. She seemed to have paid no attention to the time period, or simply did not care. Then, without any warning or announcement of any kind, she inhaled and released a deep breath; and a chillness, unearthly and insupportable, fell upon the atmosphere at once. I collapsed to my knees, suddenly struggling to breathe. With a flash of dread-instilling panic I realized that the gelld air was irrespirable, as inundated as it was by the supernatural chill. I swooned; my vision became occluded, and from all around me there seemed to whisper faint phantoms, portending the coming of some dismal and wintry end. The mist all about the area thickened and took on an almost celestial aspect, the motes thereof shining brightly, like atoms set aflame. Vaguely, I saw the figure of that Titaness float from the pool, rising of her own ultra-mundane volition. She landed beside me, her naked form still little more than an outline in the deepening murk of the ice-mist. “Yes, I think he will enjoy unleashing his Tartarean fury upon this land. The nethermost abysm, the Deep Cold, will mount the subterranean peaks and pour forth from the cracked land. Molten ice will wash over your kingdoms, and all will fall to the unstoppable frost.” An unhinged cachinnation followed this doom-promising pronouncement, and the last thing I saw before a cold and nightmare-haunted slumber took me was the supernal giant’s hair glowing to a white, star-like brilliance upon her scalp. In the sky beyond, the moon began its withdrawal into the clouds with the coming of the morning... I awoke on the ground, lying in a pool of shiver-inducing water; my clothes fully saturated. The sun shone clearly and fully above, and I allowed myself to bask in its warmth for a few moments, while my mind struggled to reboot itself. Remembering what had happened, I rose to a sitting position, expecting to see the structures and forms of the abandoned water park whitely armored and frost-blasted; but there were only the usual faded metals and wood, untouched by even the smallest speckling of white. Turning my gaze landward, I saw a puddle—a rather large one—a few feet ahead. Within this was a mess of stringy material, dull-grey and bearing sad remnants of what might’ve been luscious curls. Rising to my feet, I approached the puddle, and felt a lingering but measurably diminishing coldness radiating from it. The puddle lay directly beneath the scope of the sun, unshaded by any of the derelict structures, which loomed dismally over other sections of the forsaken park. Putting two and two together, I side-stepped the puddle and began my journey home. I guess if you’d only existed within some lightless and frozen pocket of space in the bowels of the Earth, the concept of the sun—and its unyielding heat—wouldn’t have occurred to you during the planning of your hibernal conquest. [X](https://Reddit.com/r/bryceverse)

I Swear To God that Giant, Weird Bug on the Floor Was a Wad of Thread Until a Few Hours Ago

y0w186

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0w186/i_swear_to_god_that_giant_weird_bug_on_the_floor/

I know because I kept meaning to sweep it up. That twirl of blue thread came from this thrift store blanket I've had for awhile. I'm not sure what shade of blue it is, but I'd say it's a few shades brighter than navy. My wife hates it. It's old and a little ragged. She complains whenever I use it at night, scrunching her nose up like she smells something nasty. But we sleep with separate blankets, so she doesn't complain too much. I, however, love it. It's the most comfortable blanket I've ever had. It reminds me of sleeping under the big, fluffy, always-fresh comforter in bed with my grandparents when I was so young I was just starting to form long-term memories. God, that room was, and still is, I think, the blackest room I've ever experienced. I couldn't tell the difference between seeing with my eyes open or closed. Sometimes, when I was a kid, I couldn't always control what I saw when I closed my eyes at night. So I'd lie there with my eyes open until I couldn't hold them open anymore. But that didn't matter there, under that giant comforter with my grandparents huddled around me. I always felt so safe there. Anyway, those twirls of thread have been coming off of my budget blanket for a few days now. I think maybe it's starting to come apart slowly. My wife's been complaining about the mess. She's working out of town right now, and I've been trying to get the house clean before she gets home. So every time I would walk over to my side of the bed, I'd see the thread and have that internal buzz of "Oh shit, I need to sweep!" But I always noticed it while I was in the middle of doing something else, so it's sat there, collecting dust on the floor, for about a day and a half, while I've continued to forget about it as soon as I've walked away. But now, it's definitely not a wad of thread. The ends of the thread, splayed out as they are, are now moving. They look like legs from spiders. Not like the thread is a spider, but that it happens to be composed of various legs that happen to be from spiders. What's more surreal, though, and what makes what I'm seeing so hard to accept, nearly impossible to chalk up to any accident of reality as I understand it, is that it's still the exact same shade of blue. There's a bit of sunlight from outside lighting it up, and it's so blue. ............................................................................ I can't look at it anymore. I literally just stared at it for three hours. I just watched its legs twitch and stretch, all seemingly independent of each other in intent, like they all belong to separate spiders somewhere else, each one possibly somewhere else, not able to understand what's happening to it. I can sympathize. For three, maybe three and a half hours, I watched it sit there and be impossible, legs twitching restlessly, almost like they were bored. I didn't notice the room get dark as the sun set. I couldn't tear myself away. I didn't want to, either. But my attention was broken by the buzzing of a fly, just six or so inches from my ear. It was a fat, black fly - much bigger and slower than your average housefly. Not big enough to be a horsefly, but big and cumbersome and odd enough that I turned to it instinctively. I think normally I would've flinched and try to swat at it. But I felt like I was moving underwater. Or like I was half asleep. And I felt unconcerned about it, just accepting it as it was. I guess that makes sense, considering a fly is much more common than an impossible, unknowable, formerly inanimate wad of thread turned into, well, I'm rambling now. So nevermind. I watched it sort of bobble through the air in these gentle, if not clumsy, arcs, occasionally making a small curly-cue at the end that propelled the husky little fly back up and forward. And of course it was flying right to the thread-spider. I knew that as soon as I processed and accepted the fly as being a fly -- if that makes sense. "Oh, it's a fat, slow fly. It's probably going to that thread-spider." When I looked back to the thing on the floor, the spiders' legs were all acting in unison. They were reaching for the fly. They seemed to be pushing themselves as far and as hard as they could. I could've sworn the legs were vibrating as they moved to follow the fly along its Sunday drive. I watched the fly do one of its trajectory-altering loopdiloops, and as it changed direction, the spiders' legs vibrated more violently, looking for a half-Mississippi like they might break apart. By this point, I was fucking terrified. I kept looking at the old blanket hanging off the bed, close enough that I could see how perfectly the color of the thread-spider matched. The compulsion to do something, do literally anything at all, fought with paralyzing fear in my head. The impossibility of what I was seeing kept me from moving. I've never been so scared in my life. I'm still pretty fucking scared. I'll spare you the details of what happened when the fly landed. It was horrific in ways I haven't even started processing yet. And I don't understand most of what I saw, either. Like, on a fundamental level. Like, if the weird thread-spider just ate the fly, no matter how disgusting or frightening it might be, I'd still be able to understand that one thing ate another thing. That happens all the time. The fact that it happened with some impossibly strange creature would just mean there's one more really frightening spider-shaped thing in the world. But that's not what I saw. I used the analogy of the spider eating the fly because that's the closest thing I can think of to relate to this. And I'm pretty sure the fly was completely consumed. That's probably the only thing I'm sure if. I just don't know how, or in what way, exactly. Anyway anyway, I finally moved when I heard what sounded very clearly like a large bone snapping. And yes, it very clearly came from the thread-spider. That sound was like a slap in the face, or like when someone smacks you upside your head because you're daydreaming in the middle of something important. I bolted out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I've been sitting here in the living room for a couple of hours now, trying to process everything. After browsing Reddit for a good while to try to distract myself, I figured I'd share this here, see if anyone has any idea of what's going on. I wasn't sure which sub to post in, so I figured I'd start here, where I'm maybe less likely to get my post deleted or downvoted into oblivion for being fake. In the meantime, I'm going to go check on that thing. I was pretty scared of it, but after getting the story out in the open like this, after rereading what I wrote, I'm pretty sure I was overreacting. How could I not be? I actually feel a little silly for being so afraid. So, if for nothing other than my injured machismo, I'm going to go see what's up. I'll try to get a picture this time.

I Am A Hunter And I Am On The Run...

y10opy

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y10opy/i_am_a_hunter_and_i_am_on_the_run/

Hello, my name is Sam. It’s my real name you can check my school records if someone would ask for it. Well currently I am on the run, not from police but with someone whom I made a deal and I guess most of us know who makes a deal. So I am on the run and surprisingly enough I brought this second....actually third hand laptop selling in one of the alley...so you know who well it might work. I want to tell my story before he catches me or the laptop gives up. I am a hunter...I don’t hunt animals of course, I hunt demons, monsters, creatures, spirits and sometimes insane humans and I also investigate these stuff. I wanted to be a pilot though when I was a kid but life never ends the way one plans. I want to start this at the beginning about how I become like this. Everything is linked to my childhood, I was a normal boy in a lovely family and I had a little sister and she was the most beautiful thing that happened to me. I remember when she was born I was the first to hug the doctor even before my father...so yeah I loved her. I was born into a normal family and I never had a paranormal incident before that day. I was a normal kid going to school and everything was fine. I remember it was raining that day, there was a alert on news so the school and offices were closed. I was 10 back then and my sister was 4. We were sitting in my room, she was playing with her blocks and toys and I was playing with her. I went to look in window to see how long will it rain but the clouds were not wanting to leave and it was really dark there. My eyes went to my lawn and there was a strange man standing there, his head was completely shaven and he a had a little tint of blue on his skin. He was looking at my house just looking when my eyes went to his face and strangely I noticed that his skin was more blue than it was...what color normal skins have. But his eyes, it still send shivers down my spine. He looked at me and our eyes met for a second but I could tell he was not a human, his eyes were pitch black, deep like a never ending void but something were screaming inside them, thousands of souls screaming behind those eyes when he suddenly smirked at me. I was frozen to my place for a second but I immediately ran for my sister who was just behind me. She was still playing and I took a deep breath relaxing my muscles. I looked at the window again but the man was gone. My sister and I played for another fives minutes when I heard a scream from the basement, my mom was washing clothes there while my dad was fixing the only source of light there. I ran down to the basement it was my father, small pieces of glasses were on floor while my dad was holding his face blood spilling out from where his eyes was supposed to be my mother crying holding his hands. Glass went into both his eyes and just like that in a single day my father lost his vision I went up to bring him a first aid box when I saw it blood was slipping from the the stairs, my thought immediately went to my sister I ran up the stairs and there were pieces laying on the floor to my room where my sister was...it was small pieces of flesh, I was stopping my tears from rolling down slowly walking to my room preparing myself for what I might see. I opened the door the whole room was colored in blood and my sister was no where to be found the window was open and there was something inscribed on my desk with nails ‘אראה אותך’ went I went to the basement to see my parent they vanished to and the whole room was covered in blood. I was left alone that day and since then I have been studying about everything paranormal as well as how to protect myself. I found the meaning of the note few years after the incident. It was written in herbrew and it said ‘be seeing you’...

Mr. Ashworth's Pumpkin Patch is Full of Evil Secrets

y0cyvz

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0cyvz/mr_ashworths_pumpkin_patch_is_full_of_evil_secrets/

My family lives beside a pumpkin patch. We’ve been here since the beginning of the summer, living in this little two bedroom house with a leaky roof and bad plumbing. My parents said it was a fixer-upper, but I haven’t seen either one of them fixing anything yet. The pumpkin patch isn’t ours - it belongs to our neighbour, Mr. Ashworth. He’s the one who owns our house, so I guess he’s our landlord too. My parents always talk about him while whispering, as if he might be right outside the window, listening in on their conversation. “That Mr. Ashworth is an odd fellow,” my mom will quietly say. “You got that right,” my dad will reply, even more silently. They think I can’t hear, but kids must have better ears than grownups, because they talk loud enough I can make it out from the basement. That’s how I overheard them saying the other day that they were gonna be short on rent this month, and they would need to make it up to Mr. Ashworth in some other way. “Why don’t we tell him that Jason will help him harvest pumpkins this year," My mom offered. "He can work for him every day after school.” “Hmm, I suppose that might cover it,” my dad said. “You’re gonna need to start looking for a new job soon, though. If they can’t give you full time hours they shouldn’t have told you they would...” “Tell that to Sharon,” my mom retorted, in a tone that suggested there would be no further discussion on the matter. And so I ended up out in the pumpkin patch, harvesting fat orange pumpkins and loading them onto a wagon, my back straining and sweat pouring down my face, despite the chill of the evening. Mr. Ashworth sat up high on his tractor, looking down at me condescendingly with his one good eye, sipping something from a brown bottle that looked cold and alcoholic. “Alright, keep working. I’ll be right back,” he said, once the flatbed was stacked high with pumpkins. The tractor started to chug and belch black smoke from the exhaust stack, as it lurched into gear with a jolt that sent several pumpkins teetering and tumbling from the back end. Mr. Ashworth seemed not to notice as they smashed and spilled seeds and guts everywhere on the grass. “Hey! You dropped some! Mr. Ashworth!? When can I go home!? I’ve been out here since four o’clock!” I shouted after him, looking at my watch. The sun had set hours ago. I hadn't eaten dinner. It was past 9:30 PM and I had school in the morning. Not to mention the pile of homework in my backpack which had been nagging at me until I decided I didn’t care about it anymore. Mr. Ashworth was gone up the hill, the steep slope sending a few more pumpkins wobbling and rolling off the back of the flatbed. I realized suddenly what a terrible conveyance it was for our purposes. Something caught my attention as I was standing there, breathing heavily and waiting for him to come back. A scarecrow, about fifty feet to the left of me, was hidden between a few high corn stalks in the patchy field. For some reason, it began to draw me in, and I felt myself taking slow, tentative strides toward it. Something was odd about the scarecrow, I realized as I ambled closer. Actually, there were several strange things about it that had drawn me in. For one thing, it was covered in crows. And I’d always thought they were meant to keep those pesky birds away. The scarecrow was guarding a small, hidden garden. I guessed it was Mr. Ashworth’s personal vegetable patch. There were a few sagging stalks of corn, a couple rotten pumpkins, a half dozen blackened and collapsing gourds and zucchini, swarming with flies, as well as a yellowed tomato plant covered in moldy, rotting fruit. Everything growing there was dead or dying. As I drew closer, I saw that the scarecrow wasn’t alone. It was the outermost of a group of them, positioned in a low section of the field so that the vegetation disguised it and camouflaged it. I realized it was a perfect hiding place, completely indistinguishable from the road or the house. It was like a bunker in a golf course, minus the sand, hiding this little monument to decay from the rest of humanity. Maybe that was why my legs were wobbly and my hands were a little shaky, as I thought about the fact that I probably wasn’t supposed to be exploring over here. But I couldn’t help it, and it felt like my feet were on a conveyor belt taking me inexorably closer to the group of scarecrow-people, swaying gently in the breeze, with broomsticks shoved up their- “Jason! Get back over here! The day’s almost done, boy! One more load and I’ll be done with you for now!” I shuddered at his phrasing and began walking over. I looked back over my shoulder at the group of scarecrows, and could have sworn I saw one move. Twitching ever so slightly. But that was surely just a trick of the light. The one closest to me could just barely be made out in the dim glow of the moon. A burlap sack with a smiling face painted on it - and the bulge of something underneath the fabric that looked a bit like a nose. And that smell… it was like rotting vegetables. But also something else, sweet and pungent and unpleasant. Birds were picking at the scarecrow's arms with their sharp beaks, pecking and prodding at what was underneath the thick clothing. As if trying to get at something tasty hidden underneath. “MOVE IT!” Mr. Ashworth shouted at me, and I began to run back towards him, my heart pounding in my chest. *Just a trick of the light,* my mind said again. *Nothing more.* I didn't get home until 11pm that night, and fell into bed exhausted. Still, despite my tiredness, I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. Theories floating through my thoughts with no conclusions, only questions. Answers just out of reach, teasing me from underneath burlap sacks painted bright with smiling faces. As I lay in bed, I thought about the scarecrow again. And I imagined those birds, pecking at the fabric of its arms, like a thick and troublesome sausage casing. And as I fell asleep, I drifted into a fit of nightmares worse than any I’d had before. In them, my parents and I were pumpkins in Mr. Ashworth’s field, our bodies buried up to our necks in dirt. Another version of me, with a horrifying, hollow-eyed pumpkin for a head, came along and surveyed us all, judging our ripeness. He stooped down with a knife in his hand, long and rusty, and began to hack at the exposed flesh of my neck, driving dirt and soil and worms into the wound with short, swift sawing motions. I tried to scream, but found my mouth was sealed shut like the uncarved face of a pumpkin. All I could do was watch as he hacked and cut and blood sprayed and splashed the doppelganger jack-o’-lantern me’s face, covering him in fine, misty red droplets. Finally he was done, and the thing which looked like me but wasn’t picked me up in his arms and cradled me like a newborn. Then he took me over to that weird, hidden little garden, with its distended, misshapen scarecrows, and brought me over to one with no head. The stump-end of a broomstick could be seen sticking up from the farmer’s overalls and clothing, stuffed full of hay to look like a body. Pumpkin-me drove the bloody stump of my neck down on top of that pole and I could have sworn I felt real pain as he twisted and turned my skull to drive it deeper and deeper. And then finally it was finished, and the pumpkinhead-me walked away, dusting off his hands and leaving me there. I looked around to see the faces of my parents on the scarecrows all around me. But they were frozen in gap-mouthed poses, their gazes blank-white and rolled back, as the carrion birds began to swoop down and land upon us. And the crows and ravens began to feast on our eyes. I jolted awake with a terrified start, feeling my clothing and the sheets beneath me drenched with cold sweat. Sitting up in bed, I was panting and trying to catch my breath, as if I’d just been running a marathon. My hands were shaking and my legs were wobbly as I stood up, wanting to get as far away from that dream as possible, and never wanting to sleep again, despite my tiredness. My legs brought me to the window and I found myself looking out into the field, at the pumpkin patch beside our house. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of digging out there. A grunting, huffing sound as someone worked in the pumpkin field, despite the darkness. And then the noise stopped suddenly. Startled, I saw a glimpse of reflective eyes looking back at me from the darkness between corn stalks. Golden and mirrored, like a large cat’s stare. But then they winked out of existence and disappeared, as if I had just imagined them. But I knew I had not imagined them. And I knew who they belonged to, just as surely. Mr. Ashworth. * I thought about telling my parents my outlandish theory the next morning, but they were already gone when I woke up for school. It was weird, but not totally unlike them. Half the time I was forgotten about, and the rest of the time they acted like I was a deliberate inconvenience to their lives. As if my existence were a gift they had bestowed upon me that I needed to be thankful for at all times. The kids at school looked at me funny when I expressed this truth as a mundane fact of my existence. Their faces were sad and I eventually realized they were looking at me with pity. My parents had disappeared like this a couple times before, but not for a while. And they'd always apologized afterwards. I would just eat frozen pizza and cereal and wait for them to come to their senses, like I was living out a far less glamorous version of Home Alone, in a shittier house. I figured when I got home from school they would be there and they'd buy me iced cream or something to make it up to me. But they weren't there when I got home from school. Instead, Mr. Ashworth was waiting for me at my front door. My heart sank immediately. Feeling exhausted already from school and working the fields the day prior, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see him. But he reminded me that I had a job to do, and that my family would be evicted if I didn’t do it, and I agreed to head over to his place after changing out of my school clothes. "Fancy boy, ain'tcha?" He said mockingly. "Just wear what you got on." "Have you seen my parents?" I asked, hurrying to follow after him. "They've been gone since this morning." He looked at me sadly. "Your parents certainly take your maturity for granted," he said cryptically. "What do you mean?" "Didn't they tell you? They said I should make sure to give you dinner for the next few days, since they were going out of town. I told them it'd be no problem. By the way, I hope you like mutton." I was flabbergasted, and felt a terrible sense of betrayal. "For a FEW DAYS!? They went out of town!? That's impossible! How could they do that and not tell me!?" "Are you sure they didn't? Young boys such as yourself don't always have the best ears for listening. Especially if there isn't candy and video games involved." I could feel my face getting hot with anger. "No! They didn’t mention it! Did they leave a phone number? Anything!? I need to talk to them!" "Nothing of the sort. Come on, let's get to harvesting! Those pumpkins won't pick themselves!" Mr. Ashworth's house was a lot busier today, I realized, as people were starting to show up to purchase pumpkins from his barn where he had them stacked high in a lineup like a class photograph, arranged from small to large going left to right. They were sorted on a set of long benches which appeared to be designed for that purpose. I was surprised to see a dozen or more children were also working with Mr. Ashworth, taking cash from customers in exchange for pumpkins, and assisting people with carrying them to their vehicles. I hadn't seen the kids in school, and didn't recognize any of them, but I was new to town and figured they were in different grades or different classes than I was. I tried to talk to one of the kids, but he just turned away, refusing to say anything to me. He looked a little frightened, and was dead set on tending to customers. He had no interest in speaking to me. "What are you doing in here!?" Mr. Ashworth shouted when he saw me. "You're supposed to be out in the fields, hacking pumpkins! Get back down there. Don't make me get the whip." I expected a grownup to chastise Mr. Ashworth for saying something like that to a child, even if it was a joke, but nobody said anything, they just kept going about their shopping. A woman's eyes strayed to look at me for a second, but then she looked away sharply, as if not wanting me to notice. She grabbed her young daughter's hand and made a showy display of picking up a pumpkin and hefting its weight in her hands. "Look, Sadie! This is a big one! Do you want to carve this one?" The little girl smiled, looking shy. I could sense something was off about all of this. Something was left unspoken as a hushed tone carried throughout the barn. I felt like people were watching me intently, but when I turned to look at them they were quick to glance away. I got that feeling you get when people are talking about you behind your back, saying unkind things. "Move it!" Mr. Ashworth said, pushing me from behind. "The jack o' lanterns don't pick themselves!" I walked down the hill towards the fields with a forlorn look over my shoulder. The families acting strange, picking out pumpkins while ignoring me, and the kids quietly working at Mr. Ashworth's farm, they all had something to do with the creepy scarecrows in that hidden garden. I knew it. Like seeing the pieces of a puzzle and knowing it would make a picture, but not knowing quite what that picture was. I resolved to sneak out to visit the hidden garden later that night, after Mr. Ashworth went to sleep. Assuming he actually slept. * Later on, I lay awake in bed, the sounds of crickets outside my window the only noise in the world. I was exhausted after another long night working in the pumpkin patch. All evening I had watched with jealous anger as happy families with smiling children streamed in one group after the next, laughing and picking out their pumpkins, talking about how they were going to carve them to look like clowns, witches, ghosts, and ghouls. The only ghoul I wanted to carve up was Mr. Ashworth. He had told me to come back bright and early in the morning, before school. I would need to help him for an hour or so before class. There wasn't much I could say to this. He was my impromptu guardian, it seemed, at least for the time being. It would be another short night with no sleep, by the looks of things. The lights in Mr. Ashworth's house went out suddenly and it was still and dark. Was he finally going to sleep? I imagined him climbing into a coffin in the basement, and closing the lid shut until morning, like some sort of reverse vampire. I climbed out my bedroom window, afraid of the squeaky sounds of our rusty-hinged front door waking up the old man. My feet hit the ground with a muffled sound, the grass slightly damp with early morning dew that I could feel through the canvas-tipped toes of my shoes. With a deliberate effort to remain stealthy and hidden, I made my way towards the rickety wooden fence which divided the two properties. I slipped between the rails and began to march out into the pumpkin patch, staying low to avoid detection. The house stayed dim and quiet and I took that for a good sign that Mr. Ashworth was fast asleep. I made my way out towards the secret garden and found an assortment of crows waiting for me, standing on the arms and heads of the scarecrows, their beady eyes watching me silently as I approached. One bird let out a soft, mournful caw and took off, flying up into the night sky to disappear amidst the stars, and I imagined him as an undead scout going to report the enemy's position to the necromancer general - The Dreadlord Ashworth. This would need to be quick. A peek under the burlap hood, to see what was really underneath. I began to take slow, tentative strides towards the closest scarecrow. The crows stayed where they were on it, watching me carefully. I approached even more cautiously as they refused to abandon their perch. They guarded it with jealousy, their eyes looking angry as I got closer. Raising my hand to pull back the cuff of the scarecrow’s shirt, I began to expose the wrist. Hoping I would only see straw beneath the plaid, I folded the fabric back. All of the birds took off suddenly, their flapping wings and squawking cries startling me and causing my heart to skip a beat as it fluttered in my chest. After recovering, I went back to it. In the dim light it was difficult to see what was beneath the shirt. I stepped back to let the glow of the moon shine through. It was spongy and strange to the touch, but then I realized why and fell stumbling backwards. The arm…. It felt like flesh. Just like my nightmare, the scarecrows were constructed from corpses - left out to rot and hang in the sun. The only support for their weight was a sharpened pike sent through their body from the rear, and up into their mouth, like a rotisserie chicken. When I pulled off the hood I saw the jagged end of a pike protruded from the man’s mouth, with entrails and organs dangling from it. That smell…. No wonder the stench was so powerful over here. My eyes were drawn to the other scarecrows. I couldn’t help myself as I began to take wobbly strides towards the next one a few paces ahead. As I got closer to it I saw that there were more of them. Far more scarecrows than I had seen the first time. There was a line of them extending into the distance. What I had thought was a little sand bunker-shaped divot in the field was actually a meandering ditch that turned and twisted away from me, its length hidden by a low hill. And there were dozens of scarecrows planted within this narrow gulley. I began to rip the rotting clothing off the one closest to me, and almost let out a scream of horror when I saw what was beneath. A body ravaged by the birds and the sun, the rain and hail and all the other elements. The skin was sloughing and tearing in great long gashes. Pieces of rotten flesh came off with the clothing as I pulled the plaid shirt from the scarecrow. The head was still covered with a burlap sack with a dead-eyed smiling face drawn upon it, and I had to pull it off to be sure. The form beneath was almost unrecognizable as human, but I knew it wasn’t either one of my parents - and I began to move on to the next one. Despite my terror, I had to know. I had to be certain. The next scarecrow was the same as the other two. Straw hanging out the cuffs of a plaid shirt with sleeves too long. The entire form of it distended and drawn out, the limbs too stretched and lanky. But now I understood why - it was to conceal what was really inside. I ripped the hood and hat off of this one as well, to see the face underneath. I nearly vomited, a puddle of bile sitting bitterly in my mouth afterwards. The faces of these scarecrows were rotten and I guessed they were months or years old by the looks of them. And the smell, worse than anything I’d ever experienced. It stuck with me and stayed in my nose as I walked further along the row of scarecrows. Instead of going for the next one, I went further, towards the very back. The last two scarecrows looked newer than the other ones. Their clothes were brighter, not yet faded by the rain and the sun. Even in the darkness I could tell the difference. And the other strange thing was that these last two scarecrows were moving. It was horrifying, seeing those two figures, squirming and writhing on their posts, their heads hidden by burlap sacks. The worst part was knowing, deep down in my gut, that those were my parents, impaled on pikes like victims of Vlad the Impaler. That story I had learned in school suddenly came to mind with a chilling clarity that made my blood run cold. Who knew how long they’d been out here? I had to help them. But I had to be sure first. I began to run, my feet sinking into a muddy section and getting soaking wet and momentarily stuck, but I didn’t care. I left my shoes behind as the muck swallowed them up with a hungry GLURP sound and staggered on in my socks. When I got to the scarecrows I began to blubber and cry and call out to them, no longer thinking about staying quiet. I could only think about helping them. My hands worked quickly, pulling the burlap sacks from their heads. It was my parents. To say they were still alive was a stretch. What that was could not be classified as living, but only an agonizing delay on the road towards death. They were in a purgatory of pain, impaled and balanced in the most horrifying way atop two pikes which were slowly and inexorably making their way through their vital organs, as their body weight caused them to slide downwards, the tips of sharpened pikes inching out from behind their tongues. My mothers eyes drifted towards me and she looked at me with what I would have guessed to be remorse. Her lips quivered up and down, and I realized she was trying to say, “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, mom,” I said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “You can let go.” Her eyes closed and she let out a deep, shuddering breath and was gone. I looked to see my dad had done the same, as if they were both out there waiting for me to show up, to see me one last time and apologize. Before I had even one second to grieve, I heard something behind me. A shuffling of feet, and movement through the brush. It felt like I was being surrounded. “Lleh reven tel uoy og,” a kid’s voice said from the darkness. “Eruoy eno fo su won.” What the hell? As scared as I was, I was also confused. Was the boy speaking another language? Was this a Russian government spy project or something? It didn’t sound like another language, I realized. It sounded familiar, though. Like a record being played backwards. Without another thought I began to run towards my house, bolting past the rotting tomato plants and sagging corn stalks. Kids were waiting for me just on the other side of those, and reached out to grab me, their fingernails raking across my skin and leaving long gashes in my flesh. “Kcab emoc! Kcab emoc!” they called after me. “Eruoy eno fo su won!” Come back. Come back. You’re one of us now. I realized that after I got back inside the little squat house I once called home. I realized that they were speaking backwards. Why, I have no idea. Just like I don’t know why Mr. Ashworth has been kidnapping kids and killing their parents for years, maybe decades. Just like I don’t know why the town is protecting him. When I dial 9-1-1 to try and report the murder of my parents, all I get is a recorded message with my address listed at the beginning, as if it is meant specifically for me. “Submit to Mr. Ashworth,” the message says. “Mr. Ashworth knows what is right for us all. Mr. Ashworth is good. Mr. Ashworth is just. Do not question his authority. Open your door to him. Open your heart to him. Open your mind to him. Submit. Submit. Submit.” I hung up the phone after that, when I felt my eyelids getting heavy and my head was feeling fuzzy, and I began walking to the front door with my hand outstretched. Part of me feels like I need to go back over there. Like I owe him a debt. My parents did agree to his terms, after all. And we did eat the delicious pumpkin pie he gave us when we moved in. Submit. The word flashes through my mind and with it is a wave of terror. Because I know that eventually, whether I want to or not, I will be back working in Mr. Ashworth’s pumpkin patch tomorrow. And every day after that, for as long as I live. Until one day, I too become a scarecrow in his [fields.](https://www.reddit.com/r/JGcreepypastas/comments/raq7ay/all_stories_20212022/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [MAD](https://www.reddit.com/r/MidnightAllDay?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [TCC](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [YT](https://youtu.be/r1jPyX14k2Q)

I Can Hear my Child Through the Walls, it’s Tormenting me.

y0pcij

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0pcij/i_can_hear_my_child_through_the_walls_its/

My child died in March of 2022, otherwise this year. I have been grieving for so many months until I finally pulled myself together. My husband has taken it harder than me. He always wanted a child and ever since my baby died, he’s been completely shut off. I need suggestions on how to help him. This week I walked into the old nursery and found him holding our baby’s teddy bear. He was cradling it in his arms as if it were the real one. “John, you can’t do this. C’mon let’s take you back.” He looked at me and shook his head “He’s still here, he’s still here!” I had to drag him out of the room and back into the living room where I told him he was gone. He silently cried into my shoulder and I hugged him. Last night when I was downstairs making a drink, I heard a baby crying coming from the nursery. When I heard it I instinctively ran up the stairs, and into our bedroom where I hid under the sheets hoping the crying would stop. This isn’t the first time either, it started a month after our kids death. When our kid died we were given a stuffed animal which we put in the nursery. After a month of being in there it would move. It would move into the crib, the top shelf, the toy blocks, anywhere it could get, it would be. We would place it back but it would move again. My husband thought it was our child telling us it was here with us. I think something darker is going on though. He thinks it’s a miracle, I can’t relate to him. He’s extremely religious, and thinks god is at work. This morning, I found the doll and it wasn’t in the nursery, it was in our medicine cabinet. I had opened the medicine cabinet to take my daily pills and found it sitting there, it’s Teddy bear hand was inside my pills. I quickly took the teddy bear out of the medicine cabinet and saw medicine powder was around the bear’s mouth. I threw it in the wash hoping that would clean it. When I got it out it looked to be brand new, as I was holding it I started to see our child in the bear. I cradled it until my husband came and rushed over saying it was our child. When I realized what is as doing I put the bear down and started to cry. “My child is gone! How can I live like this?” I collapsed onto the laundry room floor and my husband hugged me telling me our child was home. I don’t believe this is our child. It’s demonic. It’s not real, it can’t be real. Can it? I’m loosing my mind, I have an appointment with a psychiatrist next week and I’m loosing sleep. My husband brought a baby monitor home last night, he said it’s so we can watch our kid. He named our kid Noah, after a person in the Bible, I have no idea who that is but I hate him for naming our child that. I cant stand this house anymore, it’s tormenting me. I will walke up in the middle of the night to crying and my husband will nudge me out of bed to go check on our “child” it’s not our child. It’s a demon. I know it. He’s continuously pushing me to take care of it. It’s not even human, why the hell does it need milk?! Why the hell do I have to take care of it?! Why the hell is it here?! I went to my appointment and the doctor said I’m having hallucinations, I still think it’s the devil. I’m loosing sleep every night, and I feel like I’m loosing my mind.

My girlfriend won't let me deadbolt our closet door

y019pb

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y019pb/my_girlfriend_wont_let_me_deadbolt_our_closet_door/

After 3 years of dating, my girlfriend and I finally moved in together. This is great and all, but for any of you out there considering a similar move, please try to set any ground rules before you make the decision. I thought Lizzy & I were on the same page, but she threw me a curveball on day one. "Now we can finally get rid of that creepy deadbolt on your closet!" She said I know you're probably jumping to a bunch of conclusions about me right now, but there's a good reason for it- and beside that, she knew about the deadbolt beforehand. This hadn't been brought up when we discussed the move. Hell, she hadn't even complained about the lock for years! Before you start jumping to conclusions, let me give you the background- which I pretty much have to give any time someone sees my closet the first time. When I was a kid, I was terrified of my closet- typical kid stuff like "there's a man/monster in there!" I used to wake up my dad multiple times a night saying the closet door opened itself and I saw or heard something in there. He would come check, reassure me, and close the door. A few hours later, the same would repeat. Finally, my dad got sick of waking up 3 times a night and decided to put a lock on my closet, convinced I was either opening the door in my sleep or intentionally to get attention. A normal lock didn't work, but he was still convinced I was somehow picking the lock and opening the door. He installed one of those chain locks they have at hotels at a height I couldn't reach. I would still wake him up saying the door was cracked open. One night, my dad was up late and heard slamming coming from my room. He checked, and I was standing by my closet just opening and slamming the door in my sleep. The next day he installed a deadbolt, and he has slept soundly ever since. I am taking my parents' word for a lot of this, because I was only around 4 or 5 at the time- I remember running screaming to my parents' room a few times, but that's pretty much it. Anyway, bolting my closet became a nightly routine that I grew up with, and the few times I tried to stop, I would have awful nightmares and wake up to an open closet. I pretty much just resigned myself to bolting the door. When I moved out of my parents'house, I decided to give up the habit. My friends gave me crap about it since I was young, and the last thing I was going to do was bring a girl back to a room with a deadbolted closet- serious ac murderer vibes. I had the familiar nightmares I associated with the other times I had tried to quit, but I decided to push through it. I woke up to the closet door open so many times, that I stopped closing it at all. I started waking up in the middle of the night and seeing things in my closet. This shook me, but I would turn on the lights and see something to explain it away. For example, I would think I see a person and it would be my golf bag. I would hear scratching on the door and find a branch outside my window. I would hear "Warren" whispered and think it was just the AC kicking on. This pattern continued, but the "plausible explanations" became less plausible. I would see an unnaturally tall man in a bowler hat with twinkling eyes, and when I turned the light on, there would be a bowler hat with some Christmas ornaments...in July- and I've never bought a bowler hat. I looked for that hat in the daytime many times without finding it. I would hear whispers of "Warren, come join us. Join us" that would build up into yells, then mix in with the sound of my fan. One night, I woke to the bowler hat man. He let out a deep chuckle and then lunged from the door, bounding at me on all fours, limbs twisting at alarming angles. I turned on my lamp, and a bowler hat sat in the middle of my room. I went to a 24 hr Walmart, bought a deadbolt, and installed it the same night. I slept like a baby. Explanations be damned, I kept that lock on my closet in every apartment. Lizzy knows this and knows how terrified I am of the closet, but she won't let me put a deadbolt on. She says "it's time you get over this phobia". It has been a month since we moved in. The nightmares are back. The closet door is always open. I hear them whispering to me. "Come, come, join. We will dance together. We will shower in the red." I dreamt last night that I awoke wet, smelling metal. I walked to the bathroom and in the mirror I found myself drenched in blood. The bowler hat man stood behind me- smiling, pleased- and patted my shoulder. He rolled down and whispered in my ear, "yes, join us" This morning I woke up and the closet door was closed, but I was inside. I felt a peculiar feeling on my head and reached up to find I was wearing a bowler cap. I begged Lizzy today to let me put on my lock. She is insistent that this is all a fantasy of mine. I don't know what is happening, or what will happen next. I have to put the lock on. I can't last another night.

I'm an Animal Control Expert Who Specializes in Cryptids. One Cryptid is Entering Human Homes More Often Than Usual. This is a PSA.

y01zv4

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y01zv4/im_an_animal_control_expert_who_specializes_in/

For years I was the guy to call if you had a squirrel in your attic. I mean, to a lot of people I’m still that guy but over the last 20 years I’ve branched out to other less common infestations. Now I’m the guy you call if there is a haunted doll rummaging through your attic or a sasquatch trampling your flowerbeds. I love my job. The specializations I’ve acquired have allowed me to travel across the country, meet incredible people and experience cryptids like few have ever done before. It doesn’t hurt that the pay is great, but the stories are even better. I have one short story for you now, its more of a public service announcement than anything else really. I’ve dealt with every sort of infestation from Sasquatches (spray Human urine around area of sighting and it will avoid the area), Demonic Presences (Usually need to bring a priest in. Sometimes can be tricked into inhabiting a lesser creature, like a frog), and Jackalopes (its just a bunny with some antlers! Put it in a cage and give the poor thing a carrot!) but recently there has been one cryptid that has been growing more and more invasive into human settlements – The Hidebehind. Most commonly found in the forests of the Northern United States and Canada the Hidebehind is one cryptid that cannot easily be dealt with. In fact, I’m not sure it’s even possible for one of these to be bagged and tagged like we normally would with other cryptids. To my knowledge no Hidebehind has ever been killed, maimed, dazed or even simply removed from a residence. Once it has made a claim to an area whether it be a local forest, a cave or even, in one particularly bloody case – a Bass Pro Shop, it will defend that area to the death. First documented by the Native Americans then by Lumberjacks in the PNW of America the hidebehind is one of the lesser known, but cryptids on the continent, but without a doubt, one of the most dangerous. No one really knows what they look like. As the name suggests, as soon as they are seen they quickly duck out of view to hide behind anything in the vicinity. In the wild, this would be trees and rocks, in your home this could be a corner, a kitchen cabinet, a television or literally anything else as they can manipulate their body to hide behind an object of any size. In the few accounts of the sightings we have on record they have been described as everything from a large bear/lion hybrid to a frail and elderly woman with long arms and rashes on her skin. Because of this wide discrepancy in their descriptions, they are believed to be shapeshifters that can change their shape based on what they believe will best get their potential victim to come closer and investigate the sighting. I don’t know why the Hidebehinds are moving into suburbs, I’d guess destruction of their natural habitat, but it is becoming a real problem. That’s why I am going to share this story with you now, so you know what to do if one shows up in your home. I pulled up to Tim’s house around 12pm on a Tuesday. He had called in to tell us there was a ‘demonic entity’ in his house and we needed to remove it ASAP. They always demand ASAP. Tim had nothing going on, but people are so much more demanding than they were 20 years ago. I took a quick look around the house and it was pretty apparent there wasn’t any sort of demon in his residence. Not only was there no reaction to the holy water and Ouija board I had brought with me, but Tim also didn’t have normal symptoms of a demonic haunting – bad dreams, sleep paralysis or the witnessing of any telekinetic events. After further questioning he described what he had seen in more detail: *First, I was sitting right there on the couch watching television when I got the feeling I was being watched. I turned my attention to the screen door and for just a second I saw a bear looking in through the screen, but it wasn’t a bear, you see? A bear would just keep on staring at me or keep poking at the door, but this thing just ducked out of view as quick as can be, like it was trying to sneak up on me and I had caught it in the act. It bothered me something awful, but I just grabbed my gun, set it on my lap and kept on watching the TV and eventually that feeling, like I was being watched, just kinda melted off.* *It was all peaches and cream until she showed up a few days later.* The ‘She’ Tim was referring to was a new ‘human’ form that the hidebehind was taking. I assume it was because of the lack of a reaction to the ‘bear’ form it had previously shown itself as. Like I said earlier, the Hidebehind wants you to look for it, to come nearer, like the Angler Fish, it dangles something in front of you in an attempt to bring you closer. It’s a lazy hunter. *I was out in the garage in my workshop and that feeling come over me again, that bein’ watched feeling. I turn around and I’m looking out the garage door and I don’t see nothing but then out of nowhere I see a lady’s head and shoulder pop out from the corner of the garage and the second she sees me eyeing her she pops right back around the corner where she came from. Well this time, I went looking ‘round for her. I gave a wide berth around the corner, cause I lived in New York City for a year in the 70’s so I’ve seen crazy people and she looked crazy and I didn’t want her grabbing me. So, I gave a wide berth around that corner and there wasn’t no one there. I walked all around the house and I didn’t see anyone. Not even footprints. Tell me that ain’t demonic.* It wasn’t demonic. It was a hidebehind and I told the man as such. I told him living out here on the edge of town made him an easy target for it. I told him that there really isn’t any way to get rid of them or scare them off. I told him he could try to leave his house for a year at minimum and maybe, with luck it would leave on its own, but the best bet would be for him to burn the place down and never come back. He didn’t like that answer. *My family lived in this house for 3 generations. I ain’t leaving and I sure as hell ain’t burning nothing down. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll keep my shotgun on me and when I get that feeling again, I’ll shoot it. Works for bears and that’s the meanest thing ‘round these parts, don’t see why it wouldn’t work for this- what’d you call it?- hidebehind.* You can’t argue with anyone over the age of 65, people get set in their ways, their beliefs calcify, so instead I was honest with him. I told him two things: The first thing I told him was that eventually he’d get that feeling that he was being watched and he’d get his gun and he’d start looking around for the Hidebehind, only he wouldn’t find it. That’s what happens in all these cases, because at that point, it found the best hiding spot it can possibly get, the only place you won’t be able to lay eyes on it, even if you tried – directly behind you. And at that point, its too late for you. The second thing I told him was that I’d be back in two days and more than likely he’d be dead. And then I left. Two days later I pulled my van up Tim’s driveway to find the screen door open and blowing in the wind. I didn’t even need to cross the threshold of his house to find him. He was everywhere. On the floor, the ceiling, the walls. The smell was unbelievable. I poured some gasoline on the front porch and lit it with a match. The house was an inferno within 30 seconds. I got in my van and started to pull out of the driveway and I took one last look at the house and then beyond it out into the tree line where I saw, for just a split second, a young boy before he quickly pulled back and disappeared behind a thin little tree. I was hundreds of miles away by lunchtime. I say all of this to tell you, if you ever think you might have a Hidebehind in your house or even in the area, leave. Burn the place down if you can, so new people don’t move it. These things are like bears, if they know they can get food someplace they are just going to keep coming back. And if you get the feeling that you’re being watched and you can’t figure out why, call your loved ones, because it’s standing directly behind you.

I ran a Safe Haven for monsters

y0gwrj

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0gwrj/i_ran_a_safe_haven_for_monsters/

______ Going to Alcoholics Anonymous is very awkward with mortals. It’s not like I can properly explain my past. . “Hi, My name is Theo Sharpe. I run… well I used to run a [safe haven for monsters](https://www.reddit.com/r/KyleHarrisonwrites/comments/u0nub4/the_safe_haven_story_so_far/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf). You know, werewolves, vampires, fae. Things that go bump in the night? Yeah well they are all real and guess what? They are all in danger now thanks to me. Long story really. My sanctuary was burnt to a crisp by the Lord Of Night, and the monsters that trusted me to protect them? I sold them into slavery with these twisted sorcerers called the Solomonari. But that’s fine. It’s cool because they all think I’m dead and I lost my powers so now I’m just a nobody here waiting to die like the rest of you.” Yeah that little introduction wouldn’t go very well. But I sit here and I listen to their little bitchy stories about how miserable they are because I can smell something supernatural in the area. I was drawn here after spending a few months in the Alps because of an anonymous tip from a Strigoi contact, who claimed that his clan was concerned about a new threat to the area. Vampires are very territorial and ordinarily I knew this stuff would be handled by their High Guards so I thought it was intriguing he tossed a bone my way. I wasn’t sure if it was because he felt sorry for me or because he just wanted to send me into a lion’s den and be shredded to pieces. But here I am, and of course, that means I’m exposed to any threat that recognizes me as a fake human. I mean, I am actually human now. Nocitifer took my powers of immortality. But what I mean is, I still have that distinct sense like others have that are near to magick and it’s not something you can mask with cologne. Sadly though, because I am mortal now, I can’t sense it as strongly as they can so I was definitely taking a risk by being here. But it’s not like I have anywhere else to go? Can’t go home. Don’t have one to go home to. I’m a nobody and I needed to matter somehow and I told myself that maybe getting in good with this vampire clan could give me a chance to find allies. If I ever wanted to go up against Noctifer I would need some of those. My attempts at contacting any High Fae ran dry after the first few weeks, thanks to my mortal status none of them wanted anything to do with me. They didn’t really care about the fact that the Bringer of Night was amassing a dark army to take them down either, which honestly made me want to say fuck them. But I can’t cause this isn’t really about them anyway. It’s about the creatures I swore to protect that used my safe haven. They deserve better than me, but I’m all they’ve got. Anyway, enough of that boring backstory shit. My current problems are far more worrisome anyway. Each time after an AA meeting I have followed one of the members for a few days to get an understanding of their schedules. I think I’ve narrowed down my list of suspects to three in the group that are probably supernatural creatures. There’s Todd, he’s a bit of an old school romantic and seems to think that the girl in his apartment should show him attention but won’t. Don’t know why that’s driven him to drink but with that narcissistic behavior I can’t help but to think he might have some werewolf genes. They tend to take what they want without regard for the human toll. Roberta is suspect number two, she doesn’t say much but it’s her silence and aversion to conversations that makes me think she might have a connection to my vampire friends. She never wants to be in group pictures and claims to have a skin disorder. Classic vampire profile. Probably a Moroi. This is a little tmi, but vampires have strict rules about feeding. This keeps their clans safe from human intrusion. So if a vampire was say, excessively preying on humans then it’s likely that the High Guard would be interested and bring them in rather quickly. The thing is, that’s their job and not mine. So I can’t imagine why my contact would think that I could take down a rogue clan member. The final suspect is Wilbur, he works at the docks and has been complaining a lot lately about having to work odd hours and getting no sleep. But when anybody asks about his job or what’s causing the insomnia, he clams up. The reason he’s on the list is because I went to his job just a few nights ago and it felt off, especially when it came to the security detail. Normal human establishments don’t care that much about security for a boating dock like this, so I figure they must be hiding something in the containers. Tonight the plan was to get closer and take pictures and figure out what was coming and going from the dock. I followed Wilbur and waited until he was already starting his shift, watching the calm Mediterranean and waiting for the boats to arrive. This shipment came around 2am, the only reason I recall the time is because alarms blared and I dropped my camera. I was half asleep in my car and felt like a fool wasting my time. I sent the photos to my contact though, just in case his well trained immortal eyes could see something I didn’t. To my surprise, his response came within moments. “What is Bucca Pharmaceuticals?” the text read. I glanced at the picture he sent, a zoomed in shot of the logo on the containers and texted back. “How should I know? You’re the expert here.” Then, before I could get another response, someone tapped on my window. My heart was pounding a bit, fearful that I had been spotted and I rolled it down to politely nod at the bay guard. “Hello there. Lovely evening isn’t it?” I said as I gestured toward the bay. His demeanor told me he wasn’t buying it. “I suppose I should get going then…” “You’re coming with me,” the blocky man said as he reached into my car window and slammed my head against the steering wheel. A second later he was grabbing my car door and ripping it off, pulling me legs first onto the concrete. “Just who the hell sent you?” The guard snarled as he kicked me in the thighs. Used to be I wouldn’t need to give two shits about being messed around with like this, I could take a hit and keep going. But now I’m mortal. Now I knew that I wouldn’t be walking straight the next morning. Still, I did my best to remain silent as he slammed me against my car and said, “Won’t talk eh? That’s all right. We can find a way to make you talk.” He slammed my head so hard against the roof of my car I blacked out. When I woke, I was strapped down to a metal chair inside the warehouse and some of his bosses were coming to check me out. “What do we have here?” The first man said as he adjusted his sunglasses and got a good look at me. I tried my best to look unfrightened. But it didn’t last long. “He has contact with the Clan Reinhardt, I couldn’t determine who. Seems that he was sent to spy on us,” the guard said, tossing my burner phone to the boss. “Interesting. Seems that they are getting pretty desperate if they hire simpletons like you,” the man said dropping the phone and crushing it with his boot. “What’s in the containers?” I said focusing on my mission. I knew that my instincts about them were right and despite calling them out, the criminals didn’t seem too concerned by the revelation. “Considering the fact that you’re working with Reinhardt I suppose a peek behind the curtain couldn’t hurt,” the man said. He seemed to be amused by the thought of revealing their secret before torturing me to death. He was relishing the idea of whatever nightmares they had hidden being unveiled to me before I was made to suffer. And when I saw what was in the containers I understood why. There were other vampires here, lower foundlings or newbloods as they were often called each being suspended upside down on silver chains above deep purple tanks of water. The tanks were filled up enough so that each of the vampires could be plunged into it over and over again, held down and forced to thrash about as they were repeatedly drowned. Of course since these creatures couldn’t die from such an experience I immediately understood the purpose of this chamber was for their suffering. The men in charge were cutting them with crosses and stakes, jabbing their bodies full of holes and then allowing their blood to taint the tank full of water. And as we went toward the back of the container I saw they had set up an ordinary tank just for me. “You’re going to tell us exactly what the Reinhardt’s know about our little operation, and you’re going to tell us now,” the boss said. “They don’t know anything. Only that you’ve been considered a threat,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure why I told the truth. Maybe I thought it might buy me a few more seconds. “Oh are we? Well I suppose that’s good to know we are making progress,” the man snickered. “You’ll regret ever becoming a thrall for them,” he added as he lowered the chains around my neck. I saw something in his eyes that gave away his true nature and thought I might try a different tactic. “I am not a thrall. I was sent to report for them on behalf of the Alliance,” I told him softly. The man hesitated, clearly surprised I knew anything about this. “And they trusted a mortal?” he asked. “I am merely in disguise. You should let me go, before they find out that you have been breaking the treaty,” I told him. He thought about, his eyes dilating a bit as he reconsidered if his little illegal operation was worth dying for. “I think you're bluffing. Besides which once you die the Alliance won’t know what happened and we can disappear like we have before,” he declared. Then he raised me up by the chains and I felt the air knock out of my lungs. I was dangling like a prized ham, struggling to breath as he commented something else that I couldn’t hear. Then I was dumped into the icy water, trying my best to hold my breath as the depths surged around me. I felt the chains tighten around my neck as I thrashed and watched them outside the water, the murkiness inside the liquid revealing their true bodies. Their skin was scaly and silver and blue, similar to fish skin and their eyes were wide and bulby. No hair and open slits around their neck told me my guess was right. These were merfolk. It was a comforting thought right before I drowned. But that is not what happened. As I was just about to black out I heard a sharp whistle from above. The merfolk heard it too. They looked up and I saw a large shadowy figure drop from the warehouse rafters. In a flash the strange apparition attacked them. Their oily green blood spilling out across the warehouse floor as the creature attacked each of them, leaving nothing left but quivering fish guts. Then I felt the strong pounding of a fist against the glass. I watched as the shadow smashed open the tank, spilling me out onto the floor and causing me to cough and gasp for life. As my eyes adjusted back to the world I saw the carnage and looked up at my savior, the vampire that had contacted me in the first place. “Sergei, you’re a little late,” I said as I coughed up more blood. “Bucca Pharmaceuticals is owned by renegade merfolk,” the tall pale figure said as he stared at the crimson flowing from my hand. “Figured that out did ya?” Then I paused and realized the blood might be too strong for him to resist. “You’re.:. Not hungry are you?” I said hesitantly. He looked away and adjusted his clothes before commenting, “Quite full actually.” “Well. That’s good then.” “You’re welcome,” he said with a whisper and added, “You performed your duty well, despite your current status.” “Is that a thank you?” I asked as I studied my injuries. I would probably be out of commission for a week. “By the way, how exactly do you guys pay? Please tell me your clan uses PayPal,” I mumbled as I looked up but he was already gone. I walked out of the warehouse with bruises and no clue what this issue might have been or if I was any closer to gaining a foothold in the vampire world. But I guess it’s a new beginning, and they all have to start somewhere.

I'm Never Eating At A Buffet Again...

xzzfpp

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzzfpp/im_never_eating_at_a_buffet_again/

We have a tradition of going to buffet for my birthday dinner. As I got older it became harder to get my small family together for a meal. My brother left for school and my parents both got pretty into their jobs. When the day came, I got lucky and my brother came back for a weekend. My parents far busy but promised we could do dinner later with just them and I accepted the offer. If I went out with them later, I could go with my bother now so I got two birthday dinners. I picked out the place I wanted to eat at. There was a Chinese buffet pretty close by that I loved. The food was great and they had some aquariums with massive Koi inside for people to watch while they ate. They place looked beautiful as well. The entire restaurant covered in red and gold making me wonder why it wasn’t a more popular spot. The hostess silently directed us to an empty table. Besides the workers, we were the only one inside. For how good the food was I felt bad that this place wasn’t packed. We got our drinks and went to load up our plates. The dinner was fairly normal for a while. I roasted my brother in the way only a little sister could. He pretended to be annoyed but had fun hanging out after being away for so many months. We tried to stay quiet though so we wouldn’t disrupt the serves slow night shift. I swore I needed to come by this restaurant more often after eating two plates of different meat dishes. The food had no reason being this good. Soon I started to get full, leaving a few pieces of mushrooms and noodles on my plate. My brother had half a slice of cake on his. We sat and talking for a few more minutes waiting for our stomach to settle before attempting to clean the last few bites. As we talked, someone else came in and sat at a table near ours. I glanced over at him unable to help myself. I’ve never seen a person like him before. His skin dark, but hair golden. His eyes a bright blue, almost white. It made them look fake and I didn’t know why someone would wear colored contacts to go out alone for dinner. The wait staff suddenly started to act weird. They whispered something to the man sitting down and nodded towards us. I met my brother’s eyes to see if he wanted to leave or stay to watch what this was all about. The man said something in a low voice I couldn’t make out and waved off the waiter's concerns. The waiter gave us an almost scared look for half a second, then hurried away. I looked around to see that almost everyone working in the place suddenly started to hover nearby. The man dressed in a dark red vest with gold pin stripe threads. His shirt buttoned up all the way to his chin making his neck look stiff. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to the elbows in such a neat way and buttoned them in place with glittering golden buttons. We both did our best to not stare, finding it hard. He didn’t seem to notice the other two people looking at him. The stranger sat stiff and proper, waiting for something. The server came over with two plates in his hands piled with stir fried rice and some sweet and sour chicken. I gave my brother another look wondering who this guy was that made him so important a buffet server would bring food to him. The plates were set down and the man started to eat, then more servers came over. My mouth dropped open as more plates were set down. Soon the entire table was covered with dishes over loaded with different kinds of food. I couldn’t finish even a plate and a half of what been placed down in front of this man. Did this guy have friends coming by? No, the table he sat at only could hold four people. This was way more food than what four people could eat. In the time the plates been set down the man finished the first two. He set the cleared plate aside and the server scooped them up for more to be set down in their place. This man wasn’t big. He looked rail thin and yet he already ate more than what myself and my brother did in two minutes after sitting down. We should have paid our bill and left but we sat in our seats transfixed at the sight before us. We no longer tried to hide staring at this man eating. Another four plates set aside and the servers were sweating. They were acting as if a wild animal came inside but needed to act professional serving it. The music that played over some sort of hidden system cut out letting us hear the sounds of his cutlery against his plates and faintly a dishwasher running somewhere in the kitchen. Oddly enough, the man wasn’t making any disgusting chewing sounds. Well, until he got to the shrimp plate. The restaurant served whole shrimp with the head still attached. I’ve never tried eating them before. The man didn’t take the heads off. he just shoved the whole thing in his mouth and I could hear the shells crunching as he chewed. I already lost track of how much food he’d already eaten. I caught my brother’s eyes again and he mouthed a silent ‘What the fuck’. His face pale and I assumed my own expression was the same look of horror. The strange man got to a place of some sweet and sour short ribs. They honestly were my favourite thing served at the restaurant and I tensed up waiting to see if he ate them the same way he ate the shrimp. Shells were one thing, but bones? There was no way he was going to eat the bones. We both stared, mouths open as he ate through the pile with no issue at all. Bones and all. The sound of his teeth cracking against the ribs the only thing echoing inside the restaurant. This was insane. There was no way someone could eat like this. We had a chance to just leave. I doubted the owners would care if we fled without paying our bill by then. There was no way to figure out how much he ate with all the empty plates being taken away. We lost track of time but I think it wasn’t very long. This man ate more than what some people did in six months in under an hour. Finally, all the plate were removed and replaced by clean empty ones covering his table. He turned his head to meet our gazes. I nearly screamed having the set of bright eyes on us. We both froze, unable to move when he stood up, adjusting his vest. Even after eating so much, he didn’t make a mess. No drips of sauce on his vest, or at the corners of his mouth. He took the few steps to come over to our table, a smile on his face that made my body want to fold onto itself. He stopped and placed a hand on the back of my chair, trying to look as friendly as possible. I wanted to scream. I looked up my brother silently begging him to do something. His hand went to his butter knife, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. If this man tried anything to his little sister, he might attack him. Thank God for older brothers. “I am sorry you both needed to witness all of that. It must have been unnerving for you, but I this restaurant had a wonderful dessert prepared for me tonight and I needed to come in right away.” The stranger spoke, his voice sweet and with a hint of a southern accent. “You... ate the bones...” I choked out unable to say anything else. “Oh yes. I am able to digest things like that. One should always clean their plates. It’s an insult to the chefs and the food otherwise.” He said and his eyes fell on our plates. We still had a few things left over. I started to sweat. My chest getting tight waiting for him to do something. My mind going crazy with thoughts of what the hell this man really was and what he would do to us for not finishing our meals. “But I suppose a few pieces left behind isn’t the end of the world. After all, you did see something a bit strange. It’s understandable to not finish your dinner with your stomach upset. I’ll pay for your meals as an apology. I do know that my eating habits are a bit different from your own.” He said his friendly tone never wavering. I sighed and my brother relaxed his grip on the knife. I wanted to leave and nearly did so when I saw his face twist into horror. He saw something before I did and I heard a sound of muffled screaming. I tensed again, praying that if I didn’t move nothing would happen. The sound got closer and out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the servers dragging a bound man through the empty dining room. He struggled harder when he got closer to the table of empty plates. His pleas for help hidden under the cloth stuffed in his mouth and wrapped around his head. “Oh, there is my special dessert now. This one was found trying to climb into a window of a child in the dead of night. It seems that wasn’t the first time he's done so. Just the first time he was caught.” My dinner threatened to come back up hearing those words. I let myself watch the servers place the struggling bound man on the table and on the plates. He broke a few as they forced him still. He kicked and thrashed, causing some of the broken shards to cut his clothing. The stranger didn’t mind. He turned from our table to go back to his with a new meal. I only stayed long enough to watch the stranger's mouth literally unhinge from his jaw. I knew he wouldn’t eat his dessert as neat and proper as he did with his dinner. I grabbed my bother by the wrist and dragged him out of that place, letting out a small scream when I heard the first sounds of the stranger biting down. We got into his car and got the hell out of there, neither of us speaking. We didn’t even notice my brother accidentally stole the butter knife until we got back home. We threw it out, not wanting the thing in the house. It took hours for either of us to finally speak to each other. “Do you want to... Go to the movies instead of dinner for your birthday next year?” My brother asked in a shaking voice. I nodded agreeing with him. It sucks that I could never eat at that restaurant again. I really liked their sweet and sour short ribs.

Hundreds of People Enter The Corn Maze In My Small Midwestern Town. Not All Of Them Come Out Again.

xzrlmw

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzrlmw/hundreds_of_people_enter_the_corn_maze_in_my/

The maze appears at the same time and place every year– Although nobody alive could say who makes it. When the mists clear on the morning of September 23rd, it's always there, like a man-sized cut in the solid wall of Joshua Brock’s far cornfield. The Brocks were here long before the first white faces came riding up from the river with their guns, smallpox, and whiskey. I reckon they’ll be here long after the rest of us are gone, too. In all that time, the Brocks’ farm has neither grown nor shrunk–an’ how could it, seein’ as how it's bordered on three sides by the weird stretch of trees that old folks call the *‘Hagswood?’* It’s in *that* field, the one butting up against those twisted trees, where the maze appears. Between sunrise and sunset, it’s a normal corn maze. Hell, some people even let their kids play there. From dusk ‘til dawn, however…well, that’s something else. There have always been legends about the maze. About how anything ‘lectric–from phones to drones to flashlights–goes dead the moment it approaches that wall of corn. About the gruesome fates of those who attempt to cut, burn, or otherwise interfere with the maze. About the single wish that’s granted to anyone who makes it through the maze at night. That last rumor is the reason for the carnival atmosphere that gets hold of our town this time of year. Folks come from all over. Celebrities. Saudi Princes. Official-lookin’ types in long black cars. Drunken teenagers from a few counties over, tryin’ to win a bet or impress a girl. We locals just set up our lawn chairs in front of the maze, enjoy the smell of corn husk and woodsmoke, and listen to the dyin’ leaves of the Hagswood rustle in the wind. Our kids bob for apples or paint pumpkins while we watch the parade of out-of-towners. Sometimes they come lookin’ scared, like somethin’s after’em and they’d give *anythin’* to get away from it. Others have a darkness about’em, like they’re hungry for revenge. A few walk carelessly into the corn, laughing at fate– But it doesn’t matter. They all end up in the same place. Most who go in never come out again. Even if they do, there’s more than one way to grant a wish. I remember this one fella who came all the way from California. *He* made it through, and all he wanted was to get the Leukemia out of his little girl. When he got home, it was out all right. It had ripped itself right outta her in little chunks that splattered all over the carpet of their home on the oceanfront. The way I heard it, he jumped off a cliff afterwards. Then there was the local girl who wished for a perfect boyfriend who’d love her forever. She got’im too, ‘cept that he was a life-sized porcelain doll. She said her handsome doll moved when folks weren’t lookin,’ and did terrible things. Wouldn’t let’er out of his sight. Last I saw of that awful thing was when she begged all the men in town to burn it for her. Maybe I’m goin’ senile, but I’d swear I heard it scream inside the flames. I never figured myself for one of the fools who risked the corn maze. Not ‘til I had no other choice. *‘Early Onset Dementia’* was the diagnosis. I’m lucky I have a straightforward small-town doctor who told it to me plain: *“By the end of it, you won’t even recognize yourself.”* The whiskey I drank when I got home tasted like ashes. It tasted bitter as my future. I’d worked my ass off all my life, *an’ for what?!* To be robbed of my golden years? I drank until my lips were numb, until bad ideas started to make sense. The full moon was high above the fields that night. *A slow spiral into hell or a walk through an endless maze, what’s the difference?* Or so I thought then. I was halfway to the Brocks’ farm before I even realized I was behind the wheel. I was *that* drunk. Time an’ again, the little voice in the back of my head–my conscience, or whatever ya wanna call it–told me to pull off the road, sleep it off, that things would look better come mornin.’ Time an’ again, I ignored it. Not ‘til I was standin’ in front of the wall of corn did I have second thoughts. I didn’t even know what I’d *wish for* if I made it through. There I was, a fifty-six year old man, believin’ in wishes–although in *that* atmosphere, it was *easy* to believe. The corn seemed taller and thicker in the moonlight. It seemed to shake with excitement when I got close, like a hungry dog eager to gnaw on an old bone. I took a deep breath. The air smelled like wet dirt and rotten leaves. That pesky little voice piped up again, telling me that this was my last chance to stay in the sane an’ honest world of livin’ folks. The whiskey told it to shut up, an’, well– The whiskey won. My momma used to tell me to never get myself into anythin’ I couldn’t get out of again, but by the time I thoughta her, the maze had closed up behind me. That’s when reality set in. I didn’t panic, didn’t try to shove my way out through the plants. I knew what happened to the ones who tried. I knew about how the stalks wrapped around’em, strangled’em, snapped’em like twigs. How they sunk into the soggy black dirt. I knew ‘cuz, well, it *might* be a lie to say that *everyone* in town avoided the Brocks’ corn maze. A few foolhardy souls had gone in, and fewer had returned. They were tight-lipped about what they’d seen–and what they’d wished for. We were never sure if those were the conditions of their escape, or if what they’d experienced was just too awful to talk about. Even so, rumors trickled down over the years. Warnings of what to avoid. Suggestions on how to proceed. In the shadow of those tall stalks, I wished I’d paid attention. At least I’d remembered not to panic or touch the plants, and the chill air was sobering me up fast. When I started walking, my feet squelched in the black and boggy earth. Soon as I could, I took a right–toward the heart of the maze. The stories said that you had to pass through the darkest part of the maze before you could come out the other side. If you stayed on the edges, the distances would play funny tricks with your mind, and you’d wander there forever. *What else had the stories said?* There was something about a Veiled Woman, and Painted Man, and– Soon as I thought of it, I heard it. *The Whistler.* Hell, maybe *thinking of it* is what gives it power. I stepped on a corn stalk, and when it broke with a hideous crack, the sound was behind me: gentle, casual whistling. It was far off, but getting closer by the minute. I picked up my pace. The Whistler whistled faster. *How the hell had folks gotten away from it?* I tried to remember. I thought back to bein’ a kid, gathered with the others ‘round Abby DeMille’s porch. She’d run into the Whistler when she’d tried her luck in the maze, back in ‘85: “If you hear whistlin’ in the corn maze,” she’d told us, “take a turn and let it pass on by. Don’t look, don’t speak. Just *wait.* And remember: *‘when the whistlin’s gone, it’s safe to move on.’*” I slowed my pace to a walk. The Whistler slowed down too, but it was still gaining on me. I saw a turn up ahead. Behind the corner of the corn-wall, I stood stock-still and listened. The whistling wavered. It sounded confused, like it was irritated that it missed me. I began to hear something else, too: a low scraping sound, like claws or rusty metal being dragged over dirt. Abby had told us not to look…but I couldn’t help it. Risin’ in up in the starry sky above the constalks, I saw a huge scythe go passin’ by as Whistler continued on its way. The blade was caked with dark stains and chunks of meat…I didn’t look around the corner after that. I didn’t wanna see any more. I don’t think I breathed again ‘til it was gone...and I continued on my way. Time works different in the maze. Sometimes the folks that walk in between dusk and dawn come out just a few minutes later, but they’re thin and gray as though they’d aged twenty years. Then there’s cases like Clayton Halstead, who went into the maze in ‘51 and and came out in 2006. *He* hadn’t aged a day. Before he ate a bullet on Christmas Eve, Clayton used to say there were *rooms* inside the maze. Square areas cut outta the corn. As to what might be in them, he didn’t like to say. Only once, when he was plastered outta his mind at Al’s Bar, did Clayton make a single, mysterious comment. “Know what fellas?” he’d burped and looked down into his bottle. “Sometimes, when I’m sittin’ on this bar stool with you all, this cushion gets to feelin’ like hay, and the beer starts to smell like straw. An’ I get the most godawful feelin’ that I’m *not really here,* but instead, I’m back *there,* surrounded by neverendin’ walls of corn. Makes me afraid you’ll all just…*disappear*…and the moon’ll be high above me, and I’ll realize..*.”* at that point, he’d always shake his head and order another drink. He’d keep that up ‘til he fell offa his stool. I thought of Clayton because I saw one of those *‘rooms’* on my right, a little further down the path where I’d hid from the Whistler. It was nothing like what he'd described. Instead of bales of hay, I was lookin' at a buncha old-fashioned furniture set up on the wet grass: a polished dark wood table, high-backed chairs, and fine china that gleamed in the moonlight. Steam was comin' outta a silver pot, like somebody was about to have a tea party… I got the hell outta there and went back to my path. Or at least, I thought I did. That's another thing about the maze. The paths…*change.* I had been going straight when I’d turned the corner, but when I went back, I found *three* paths, all leading away from where I wanted to go. If the paths changed, I reckoned, there was no sense tryin’ to remember which one I’d taken. I chose one at random and kept walking. There was no sound but wind in the corn, no scent but rotting stalks–and nuthin’ to see but two endless walls of green. That was another thing Abby DeMille used to say, back when we were kids gathered around her porch: *“the green gets to you.”* Now I knew what she meant. I felt something beneath the sole of my boot, something hard and sharp. *Bones.* Ribs, broken femurs, whole spines. There were so many of ‘em that I couldn’t be sure what sorta animal they’d come from. I had a feeling I knew, but… *Where were the heads?* Black wings flapped around my head. A hard beak struck my cheek, then my brow– I felt warm blood and *knew* that it was going for my eyes. I swatted at the mass of black feathers, and as it circled around for another swoop, I realized what I was lookin’ at: a vulture, or maybe two. I’d never seen one of those hideous things up close before. Carrion birds, eaters of the dead, with heads like strips of raw meat and beady black eyes. I didn’t know they grew so large…and I’d never heard of’em attackin’ the living… *Unless it figured I was dead already.* I had to keep moving. I used my jacket as a makeshift whip to smack away those awful beaks. They swooped again and again, always goin’ for the eyes, until I left the bone-covered strip of dirt behind. The cawin’ faded, and I was left alone with my bleeding face and pounding heart. Nobody ever mentioned anythin’ about *vultures.* Or bones. I thought of folks like Clayton, who’d walked out of the maze years later. How many trials like that had *he* faced…and how many more were ahead of *me?* When liquid courage had sent me struttin’ into the corn, I’d figured on dyin.’ With my diagnosis, it didn’t scare me a bit. Bein’ trapped in here *forever,* on the other hand… *Maybe those bones were what was left of the lucky ones.* I walked on, always turnin’ toward the heart of the maze… ‘Though, I had to admit, I no longer had any real idea of where that might be. The sun should’ve risen…but it didn’t. Without it, there was no way to tell how long I’d been inside the maze. No way, ‘cept for my own hunger and thirst. If I hadn’t been so focused on feelin’ sorry for myself, I might have noticed it: the way the corn opened up on either side. By the time I realized I’d walked into one of the *‘rooms,’* it was too late. When I turned around, I was lookin’ at a wall of green. I *had* to cross the room. Nothin’ to be afraid of, I told myself. Just some too-perfect grass, gourds and pumpkins, some bails of hay… *And a stuffed man with a painted face.* Rhett Carlson had talked about The Painted Man, that Wizard-of-Oz lookin’ scarecrow with a face that looked like it had been drawn on by a disturbed child. When he’d come out the other side of the maze, Rhett’s simple wish had been to win the lottery. He’d only had a few years to enjoy it before his wife Marla had him killed to collect on his life insurance policy. Rhett had a single piece of advice about the Painted Man: *“Whatever it does, ignore it.”* But *I* had already stopped to look at that freaky oversized scarecrow. When I did, the Painted Man’s face snapped in my direction. It stood on straw-filled feet… Despite the awful sound of its creaking limbs, I ignored it. I kept my eyes on the opening of the maze– Even when I heard its hay-stuffed arms extending horrifically across the grass. Even when I felt its fake-gloved hands slithering up my legs. The Painted Man patted and prodded me like, like a blind man tryin’ to identify something by touch. If it got to my face–if it realized that I was human–I figured I was done for. I could feel its raspy, wheezing breath on my neck… *And I whistled.* “The Farmer In The Dell:” the same tune as the Whistler. It wasn’t dead-on accurate… But it was pretty close. I couldn’t see what the Painted Man was doing behind me, but I got a feeling that it was bowin’ low and backin’ away slowly. But I had bigger problems. Somewhere far across the maze, the Whistler had heard me..and it had whistled back. Now it was rushing toward me at an insane speed. I grabbed my knees to keep myself from running, and turned a corner quick as I could. My pursuer paused and whistled nervously. That sickening scythe bobbed above the corn. It stood still, doubting–I could tell by the pitch. *It was lookin’ for me.* That wasn’t supposed to happen–it was supposed to keep on walkin’–but then again, maybe *I’d* broken the rules first by whistling. The leaves of corn tickled my back, and I knew I couldn’t go back any further without being swallowed by the maze. I shut my eyes tight, and somethin’ passed me by. Somethin’ that sounded like draggin’ metal and reeked of death. When I went to move again, though, I nearly fell over. I was dizzy from hunger and thirst– But did I dare to eat or drink anything in the maze? The room with the Painted Man was behind me, at least… Even if the scummy puddles along the path were startin’ to make me thirsty. There was another room up ahead: dark wood furniture, a tablecloth, a tea pot.. *No. It couldn’t be, but somehow...*I was right back where I started. I dropped to my knees in the mud and cried like a baby. I didn’t think I’d have the *strength* to try a different path. I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength to *stand up* again. I was crawlin’ in the muck, miserable as a man could be, when I heard a noise that sounded an awful lot like *tea* bein’ poured. My eyes snapped open. I looked into the room. A figure had appeared in one of the high-backed chairs. From head to toe, it was draped with an enormous black veil. WIth a black-gloved feminine hand, it placed one tea cup in front of me, and another in front of itself. *Come.* Its voice, a woman’s voice, beckoned to me from inside my head. Dizzily, I got to my feet and ambled over to the high backed chair across from her. There was a platter of cookies and cakes between us, lit by the bone-white glow of the moon. *Eat. Drink. It is the perfect night for a moon-viewing party, don’t you think?* I didn’t say anything, but the Veiled Woman didn’t seem to mind. My stomach growled. I blew on the steaming cup of tea and reached out for a little flower-shaped cake. I happened to look to my right– And my hand froze above the silver platter. I wasn’t the only one attending this weird party. Beside me, a man sat with his spine perfectly straight, staring upward. His eyes were round as marbles, and the skin beneath his old-fashioned farmer’s clothes was all as dry an’ hollow as a corn husk, but he was still breathin.’ It was like he’d been mummified alive. The thirteen-year-old cheerleader a few chairs down the table, the Mexican teenager across from her, the soldier in a getup from the first World War on my left–they all looked just like the man beside me. Livin’ goddamn skeletons, wide-eyed, with the skin still on. Half-drunk cups of tea and pastry crumbs moldered on silver plates in front of them. I drew my hand away from the platter of cakes. The Veiled Woman seemed disappointed. *What is it that you want?* She asked inside my head. “I just wanna go home,” I answered honestly. *Really?* There was surprise in that raspy, whisperin’ voice. *That’s ALL you want? You won’t be able to change your mind again later, you know…* I hadn’t forgotten about the fatal diagnosis or what would come after, but I’d discovered that there were things worse than death…maybe even worse than losin’ your mind… And they walked the shadowy paths of the Brock’s corn maze. I nodded to the Veiled Woman. With a shrug, she waved a black-gloved hand. The rustlin’ green stalks behind her parted. In the misty field on the other side, I could *just* make out the outline of my truck, drunk-parked diagonally in the dirt lot in front of the maze. The Veiled Woman watched me leave, but when I turned around again, there was nothin’ behind me but a wall of corn. When I tell folks about the maze, they usually reckon I’ve lost my damn fool mind. Even folks who’ve lived in town for years and know all about the Brocks’ weird cornfield don’t *really* believe I’ve been inside it. After all, if I had–where’s my wish? Some nights, sittin’ on my porch and lookin’ up at the moon, I think that was the trick all along: the only way to safely leave the corn maze was to wish for that, and nothin’ more. But on other nights, when the trees rustle strangely and that big ol’ moon seems to bright and silvery to be real…I wonder if maybe I’m wrong about the maze... *I wonder if I ever really left it at all.* ​ [X](https://www.reddit.com/r/beardify)

[PART 2] I'm an investigative journalist with a special interest in unsolved homicides & missing persons cases. I need help with a case.

y0njom

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0njom/part_2_im_an_investigative_journalist_with_a/

[\[READ PART 1 HERE\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xwuk13/im_an_investigative_journalist_with_a_special/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Before I could even scream, it was like a spell broke, and everything snapped back to normal. I could hear birds chirping in the trees and kids getting off a school bus somewhere behind me. The breath on my neck was gone. I cast one last glance at the memorial, ready to run back to my car and drive away from this place without looking back, but my heart stopped. The rabbit, the carving on the cross, and the blood was gone. The blood was gone from my wrist, too. I backed away, gripped with fear, and then turned and ran, stumbling over twigs and leaves in my path, running as fast as I could until I made it back to my car and then drove with no direction, no intention, except to get away. It was over an hour before I calmed down enough to think straight. I had no explanation for what had just happened. I kind of wanted to push it to the back of my head, leave this place, and never think about this again. I drove back to the inn where I'd been staying, planning to pack my bags and leave town immediately. Whatever spooky shit was going on here, I didn't want any part of it. I wasn't an idiot. I wasn't going to be the fool who dies first in the horror movie. Much to my surprise, Jerry O'Rourke was waiting for me in the lobby of the inn. "Uh, hi," I said, trying not to sound like I just had the most bone-chilling experience of my life. He skipped the pleasantries. "I have something for you." He handed me an enormous envelope. "You'll find that most everyone at the station is rather less than eager to discuss this case, but one of my trainees was just promoted, and I called in a favor." He tapped the envelope. "This is everything they have, as far as I know. If you need anything else from the police, ask for Jason." He tipped his hat at me, and left. I stood in the lobby, staring at this envelope in my hands. Five minutes ago, I had been dead-set on getting the hell out of dodge. But I was still a journalist, and an entire police file on the murder I was investigating was too delicious not to at least look at. I brought it up to my room and pored over it. Before I tell you about the police report, I want to tell you a few other things I dug up about this case that I forgot to mention. My first day here, I paid a visit to the local newspaper archives at the library. There were three articles that I found particularly intriguing: ​ >November 5, 2015 **THE KENT GAZETTE** > >EYEWITNESSES CALL KENT HIGH STUDENTS’ MURDER “PARANORMAL” The reporter had interviewed two people who had been on the scene right after the bodies were found. Helen Jones’s scream of terror had alerted neighbors, who came running, and a small crowd had gathered by the time the police got there, although most everyone backed away once they realized what they were looking at. Karen McIntyre, a 46-year-old mother of four and local substitute teacher, stated with conviction that this was “clearly paranormal” and “there were forces at work here,” although she didn’t really explain what either of those things meant. She did say, “I think we all know who the police should be looking at right away,” but the article ended there, as though the readers would know whom she was talking about. ​ >November 17, 2015 **THE KENT GAZETTE** > >KENT HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS’ DEATHS OFFICIALLY RULED HOMICIDE Up until the police report, this article gave me the most hard evidence I had so far, and it was bizarre. Although the autopsies confirmed that this was definitely a homicide, no causes of death were officially determined for any of the victims. Which is so weird, because Jerry said that all three bodies bore evidence of brutal, fatal injuries to their heads, necks, and torsos. How could they not tell how they died? ​ >December 4, 2015 **THE KENT GAZETTE** > >UNDERAGE SUSPECT ARRESTED FOR HALLOWEEN TRIPLE HOMICIDE This article didn’t name Victor Knight, but it did describe the suspect as a “disturbed young person” and said that the injuries inflicted on the victims were “consistent with potential murder weapons found in the suspect’s kitchen, basement, and garage.” ​ Now, back to the police report. This thing was a mess. There was virtually no organization, which made it very difficult to parse. I found the autopsy report first, and while I could have lived without seeing those photographs, I did learn something very interesting: the bodies were so badly mutilated, in so many different ways, and in such quick succession, that it was impossible for the medical examiner to be certain which injuries were ultimately fatal. In fact, they at first thought the bodies had been partially consumed by animals before they were found, although that was ruled out by the medical examiner. Reading this, I thought, if they were so badly mutilated, how were they even identified? The photographs, unfortunately, answered this question for me: the bodies were mutilated, but the faces of the victims were left entirely intact. Whoever did this wanted them recognizable. The police report told me a few other things I didn't know. There were a number of strange things about the scene. One was that all three bodies had their mouths and pockets stuffed with whole, peeled cloves of fresh garlic. The dirt around them had been marked, as though someone were writing in it with a stick, but not in a language anyone recognized. And the scene was littered with dead animals. I shivered, thinking of the rabbit. That spot in the woods was full of dead squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks, birds, and so on, and for weeks, as though every small creature in the area died suddenly. The police report described some of them as having "unusual wounds," which made me think of the rabbit's slit throat, but others seemed to have simply fallen out of the trees, dead as doornails. It seemed that no one bothered to perform any squirrel autopsies to find out what killed them. The last thing I found in the police report that night was about Victor Knight and the case the police built against him. I've already talked about how Victor was a really big eleven-year-old, and how the victims were really small, especially for varsity athletes. Jerry had told me that Victor's older sister, Haley, was also a cheerleader, and she was bullied by the other cheerleaders and eventually killed herself. The police report gave me more details: Haley was the youngest member of the varsity cheerleading squad, and there was a lot of tension over her because the older members of the team were jealous of her. That's where a lot of the bullying came from, and it seemed like rumors were spread about her with all kinds of vicious lies. Haley was bullied relentlessly by the whole student body, it seemed, and yet she remained on the cheerleading team until the day she died. That seemed so strange to me. If being a cheerleader was the reason she was tormented, why not drop off the squad? Victor was four years younger than Haley, but he was very protective over her, for some reason. His parents were interviewed by the police and said that Haley was his favorite person in the world and they were very close. He was devastated when she died, and said all kinds of horrible things about hurting the people who hurt Haley. That's where his motive for the murders came from, getting revenge for his sister. However, the Knights' parents also talked about how Haley was profoundly depressed long before the bullying started, long before she tried out for the varsity cheerleading team. They had tried to get her help, but they said it was almost as though she was afraid of something. *Afraid.* That seemed like such a strange way to describe a depressed person. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring mindlessly out the window into the blackness behind the hotel, thinking. Something moved outside, and I blinked, startled, at the flash of something light-colored outside. But it was gone as quickly as it happened. I stood up and went closer to the window, looking for whatever it was. There was nothing out there, it was just flat blackness. Too black, actually. There was no light, no shadow, no dimension. Just pure, deep blackness. I squinted into it, too confused to be afraid, until two things happened at once. An ear-piercing scream shattered the room, and at the same moment there was a flash of lightning across the window that caused me to leap back in fright. I collided with the bed and stumbled to the floor. I curled up against the night stand, heart pounding, the echo of the lightning flash emblazoned on the inside of my eyelids. Who had screamed? Was it me? I went to the door and opened it, expecting to see people rushing about, trying to find out who was hurt or what was going on. But there was nothing. A maid walked by pushing a cart. "Excuse me," I said. "Did you hear that?" "Hear what?" "The...you didn't hear anyone scream?" She shook her head, looking at me kind of weird. "No...?" I nodded. "Great." I went back into the room and shut the door. What the fuck just happened? I sat on the bed for a minute, the open window like a gaping wound into the darkness. A cold breeze shot through the room and I got up to close the window before it hit me -- why the hell was the window open? I shut it and went to pull the blinds but before I did I noticed that the hotel windows cast squares of light across the grass, and the stars blinked bright overhead. It wasn't even cloudy. Why was there lightning? Why couldn't I see the lights from the hotel earlier? What the fuck was going on? I locked the window, pulled the blinds, drew the curtains, and then went to the door and made sure it was locked too. On an impulse, I dragged the dresser over to block the door. Probably a fire hazard, but it made me feel safe enough to get in bed. It was too late to drive home now anyway. But as I laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the image of the lightning flashed in front of me again. And then I realized something I hadn't immediately registered: it wasn't just lightning in the window. In the vague way you remember dreams, like you are certain it happened but can't quite picture it, I remembered a face in the window, illuminated by the bolt of lightning.

Hiding Under The Covers.

y0m9v6

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https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0m9v6/hiding_under_the_covers/

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had to deal with the most unsettling sleep paralysis. I’m going to recount my episode here. At seven years old, I had an episode where I woke up with cold sweats and my clothes ripped off my body. I shared a room with my ten year old brother and tried calling out for his help. When I tried to let out a scream, nothing came out. I prayed that someone would come help me. I needed to know who ripped my clothes off. I don’t know how, but my brother woke up to come and help. He picked my clothes off the floor and started to put them back on my body. I asked him who took my clothes off. He looked at me without saying a word. I kept asking him what happened, and he kept giving me a blank, expressionless face. I figured he was just a bit weary from being woken up so abruptly. I got my clothes back on and got back under the covers. About two minutes later, I heard my door creak open. I heard footsteps going towards my brothers’ bed. I was too scared to look up from under the covers and just hoped whoever it was would just leave. The footsteps continued until they just abruptly stopped. I still felt the presence of the person in the room with us. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps again. This time they were coming towards me. I tried not to move a muscle thinking that would help. The footsteps kept inching closer to the left side of my bed. Now, whoever was in the room was just inches away from my bed. I could practically hear them breathing. I build up the courage to say something. After taking a deep breath, I faintly said from under the covers “who is it?” “Why are you still awake?” It was my mom. “I had a nightmare.” I replied. “You know those things aren’t real. Go to bed, you have school in the morning.” I took a sigh of relief. I decided to give my mom a hug and just go to sleep. After all, I did have a math test the next morning. I come out of hiding from the covers and look directly at my mom. What I saw still haunts me. My mom was dressed up as a clown with blood dripping from the sides of her mouth. She wore face paint with a frown painted on, a red clown nose and teeth sharp like the ends of a butcher knife. I was in complete shock. “What’s wrong?” She said with the motherly voice I’m used to. “Why are you wearing that?” I replied with my voice and body shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go back to bed.” At this point, I realized just how strong this hallucination was. My brain was playing tricks on me. Even at seven years old, I thought I was losing my sanity. My mom leaves the room and I was left ruminating on what just happened. I hide back under the covers and try to shake the thoughts out of my head. I still tend to do this from time to time. I tried all night to try and get some sleep, but I just couldn’t help but think about what I just went through. At 6am, I heard footsteps coming back into my room. The door creaked open and I heard my mom yell “WAKE UP BOYS, IT’S TIME FOR SCHOOL!” I slowly take the covers off myself and get a glimpse of my mom. There she was, no more clown outfit, just a concerned mother wanting her son’s to get up for school. I slowly sit up on the left side of my bed and stretch before planting my feet on the ground. As I stretch, I notice a round, red clown nose on the ground in front of me. The cold sweats start again, and I can barely move my body. I slowly look up to my mom, who’s still standing at the door in our room. “m-m-m-mom what’s that on the ground?” She stares back at me, with a blank and expressionless face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go back to bed.” And so I hid back under the covers.

Never get on a London bus without checking its number.

y09knf

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https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y09knf/never_get_on_a_london_bus_without_checking_its/

The date was October 31st. I was walking home from college like I did every day. That night I’d stayed late to work on an assignment that counted towards my final grade, and I was the last person to leave. As I stepped outside and started walking, it began to rain. *Of course* it had to rain on the *one* day I left my umbrella at home. I picked up the pace and held my bag above my head, but it didn't stop the rain at all. By the time I reached my bus stop the shower had turned into a drizzle, but I was already soaked to the bone. Wet and tired, I got on my bus without checking the number. The instant I sat down I noticed something was *off*. I couldn’t quite place my finger on what, but my brain was screaming at me that I wasn’t supposed to be in that bus. I tried to shake the feeling and watched the rain fall. I assumed this feeling came from the gory decorations hung around for Halloween. After a few minutes I felt someone sit next to me. I turned to see a woman wearing a green cardigan and doing some sort of crochet work. I greeted her, but she didn’t respond. I said it a bit louder thinking she hadn’t heard me, but it appeared like she was ignoring me on purpose. Confused and annoyed, I continued looking out the window. After a few minutes the lady left. 2 stops before mine, the bus came to a sudden halt in the middle of the road, throwing me face first into the seat in front of me. Annoyed, I stood up and walked over to the driver to ask what happened. I knocked on the booth and they turned to look at me. I screamed. The driver had no face. I tried to run, but the bus doors were locked. I heard a coarse voice speak from behind me. “The doors only open at stops.” I turned and flew up the stairs to the second floor of the bus, but every seat was filled with another faceless person. I tried to jump off but a group of them grabbed me and pushed me back downstairs as I let out a scream. I squirmed free and ran to the back of the bus, hoping to find an emergency exit, but all I saw were more faceless people. They had me cornered. I jumped over the seats to get back to the front, thinking I could break the door down. The faceless people grabbed at me as I rushed to the door. I threw myself at the door, hoping it would break, but as I was about to hit it the bus came to a stop and its doors opened. I fell onto the sidewalk, scraping my knee. I looked back into the bus. The driver looked like a normal man with a face again. None of the passengers had gotten out of their seats. It seemed like nothing had happened and nobody noticed my wild screaming. I was confused and scared, so I ran home. ​ I still don’t know what happened that day, but if you're ever getting on a bus in London, make sure to check its number.

I'm an archivist for a private university. I found some strange tape recordings. [FINALE]

y02yt3

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y02yt3/im_an_archivist_for_a_private_university_i_found/

[[PART 1]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/x2tn6o/im_an_archivist_for_a_private_university_i_found/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [[PART 2]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/x4ncte/im_an_archivist_for_a_private_university_i_found/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [[PART 3]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/x8kcd8/im_an_archivist_for_a_private_university_i_found/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [[PART 4]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xg5a6g/im_an_archivist_for_a_private_university_i_found/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [[PART 5]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xp6cq1/im_an_archivist_for_a_private_university_i_found/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [[PART 6]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xvu1pf/im_an_archivist_for_a_private_university_i_found/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) It’s Naissance. I’ve come to terms with the fact that this will probably be my final post. I made it to Clara Stevens’ residence about an hour ago. Her cottage, once warm, cozy, and inviting; now had an oppressive, corrupt weight to it— as if it were going to collapse on top of me, burying me under a collection of aged-rubble and hiking equipment; effectively ending my journey before its conclusion. I thought that, perhaps, that would be a merciful fate, if not boring. I knew that wouldn’t happen though. *It* wouldn’t let it. That place. It had use of me, of that I knew. It wanted me. I was special. That’s what it told me, through the tapes, in my dreams, my visions. I knew the influence that *The Place* had on me was much like that of the others I’ve heard in the recordings. My shifting reality, this underlying feeling of *longing*— it affirmed that. And yet… Something tells me I would have gone down this path anyway. I would have chosen to seek out *The Place*, even knowing its danger. Its intentions. This feeling comes from a strong, deep desire of curiosity, that I’m sure almost every human being has felt in some way or another at some point in their lives. The desire to explore. The desire to discover. I wanted to become a part of something more important than myself, than this world; than humanity. Even if that something was horrible, and powerful. Even if it caused great pain and suffering. It was a selfish thing— the search for meaning. Clara Stevens was not here, in her home, however. I could not question her; no, *demand* that she show me the way to *The Place*. Although, I was not sure even she herself knew. Not that she wasn’t trying, of course. In the meantime, I would wait for her return. I set the final tape in front of me. This one was different from the others. September 29th, 2022. A recent date. Very, very recent. I wondered if it was ready yet; that altar of crimson blood. I wondered if it would tell me the answers I needed. And to my surprise, it did. It told me everything I needed to know, and more. I decided to give the tape a name, in respect to the others. Please disregard it if you think it is narcissistic or conceited, it just… I felt like I had to leave a record of myself somewhere. Maybe another archivist will pick these up somewhere someday, and relegate it to long-term storage, where they will never be touched again. It’s been a long ride. Thank you everyone, for joining me on this journey. ___ **TAPE 1C: ‘NAISSANCE’** DATED: SEPTEMBER 29TH, 2022 ___ \[**START\]** \[FAINT, ONGOING STATIC\] \[FOOTSTEPS\] CLARA: It’s beautiful isn’t it? I finally found it. After all of these years. DISTORTED VOICE: Yes. CLARA: My husband, he’s here, isn’t he? DISTORTED VOICE: Yes, he is. Somewhere. \[PAUSE\] CLARA: How can you show me how he dies? How can you be sure? It’s been so long. DISTORTED VOICE: Time… DISTORTED VOICE: It does not flow here. It is infinite. He is here. CLARA: So he’s always been here? DISTORTED VOICE: Always. Everyone who comes here is always present, somewhere in this place. \[LONG, UNINTERRUPTED SILENCE\] CLARA: How do you know all of this? DISTORTED VOICE: It told me. \[PAUSE\] \[KNOCKING\] CLARA: What’s that? DISTORTED VOICE: Another gateway. It’s okay, it doesn’t concern us. Let’s keep moving. \[FOOTSTEPS ECHO\] DISTORTED VOICE: This is it. CLARA: This is… That pit, from all those years ago. This was what the bottom looked like? A pit of blood… DISTORTED VOICE: Yes. CLARA: This is where he died? DISTORTED VOICE: It is. CLARA: What… What should I do? DISTORTED VOICE: Wait here. Then, it will come. It— \[PAUSE\] It will take your face. So you can see. \[PAUSE\] CLARA: I… I see. Will it hurt? DISTORTED VOICE: Yes. But— you will see him. It’s what’s owed to you. CLARA: I understand— what will you do? DISTORTED VOICE: I’ll swim to the center of this crimson altar. And I’ll sink. I will be with the rest of them, in blood, for all of eternity. But first— I need you to speak to her. Like we agreed. CLARA: Of course. It’s an old well, by an orchard near the hills. There’s an old barn nearby. \[PAUSE\] CLARA: Find me, Naissance. Come find me. DISTORTED VOICE: Thank you, Clara. CLARA: Good luck. \[SPLASHES\] \[SLOSHING\] \[PAUSE\] \[SCREECHING\] DISTORTED VOICE: It’s coming. \[CLARA SCREAMS\] \[SPLATTERS, RIPPING\] \[CLARA GROANS\] \[THUD\] \[LOUD SCREECHING\] \[LONG PAUSE\] \[SUBMERGED MUFFLED VOICE\] DISTORTED VOICE: It’s time to see it. Just like in the dreams. What awaits us, down there, past the pulsing flesh at the bottom of this pit? DISTORTED VOICE: You were wrong about this place, Naissance. About its purpose. People may live, they may die, but the blood— the blood remains. Stained into the Earth, for all of eternity. Blood, and this place, is more ancient than our existence. \[PAUSE\] DISTORTED VOICE: Even as I sink to the bottom, I’m unsure of my fate. I’m unsure of whether or not this is the end, or a new beginning. A dilemma we will both share. DISTORTED VOICE: Part of me wonders if this bloody altar will reject me, will spit me out into my bedroom, like the visions, the dreams. Birthing me into a seamless, ignorant reality to continue this cycle of blood once again. \[PAUSE\] DISTORTED VOICE: I’ll reach it soon. The deepest reaches of *The Place*, in a void of blood. \[PAUSE\] DISTORTED VOICE: *The Place*, it wants just one thing. You’re a smart woman. I know you can figure it out. It was nice talking to you, in my final moments. Until next time. This is Naissance. \[STATIC\] **\[END\]** ___ I understand now. My fate was sealed days ago. It wasn’t *The Place* that had been influencing me to seek it. It was me. It was always me. It was clear to me what I must do now. I would look for an old well, near an orchard, by the hills. I would find Clara Stevens in the gateway there. And we would fulfill our purpose. *The Place’s* purpose, however. That one thing. I think I understood. An altar of blood. Of wounds. Of life. Of death. The pull *The Place* had on us; the way it corrupted us. Maybe that was never from *The Place* itself. Maybe it was in all of us, that desire. That desire to seek it. All of us— all of us were born in blood. We were born of an altar of blood. It only makes sense that it would pull us towards our deaths there. It just needed to remind us. I had spent all of this time thinking I was special. That *The Place* needed *me*— but it didn’t need me. I wasn’t special. It needed a messenger.

Mark

y03w7d

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y03w7d/mark/

When I was 23, I met a man on Tinder. You know, the usual way. He had a nice smile, was 25, and shared an interest in comic books; so I agreed to go get coffee with him. The date was unremarkable. I was bored halfway through, my coffee was the best part. But he was nice enough. We finished it up and I prepared never to see this man again. ​ But if that was the case, I wouldn’t be here telling you about it. ​ You see, to me the date was unremarkable. Vaguely boring. Not worth a repeat. ​ Mark, my Tinder date, disagreed. ​ I responded to him asking me out again by letting him down easy. I told him that I didn’t think we had a lot in common, thanked him for asking, but explained I wasn’t interested. I responded to the next 10 date requests the same way. And then, on a Tuesday morning in March, I woke up to 78 messages from this man. They got increasingly unhinged. I asked him to stop texting me and that’s when the calls started. ​ I asked the police about a restraining order. I had to actually go down to the station to talk to them because he wouldn’t stop calling. I had 115 missed calls at that point. The nice police officer suggested I just block him which was something I hadn’t actually thought about doing I was so upset. ​ Mark started physically stalking me after that. I think he quit his job, not that I asked him. But he was everywhere. He was at the grocery store, he was outside my job when I went in and when I came back out. Any time I looked out of my apartment window, he was there in his car. Staring at me. I stopped going out because I didn’t want to run into him. I kept my curtains drawn. I kept my door locked at all times and slept with a baseball bat under my pillow in case he ever tried to get in. ​ When I went back to the police, they agreed that they would talk to him. It helped for all of a week. After that, it was two years of me trying to be taken seriously. He never hurt me, never touched me. Never even talked to me after I blocked his number. But he was everywhere. I flew home to see my parents and Mark was at the gas station I stopped at. And then finally, finally we were finally going to go to court, get a restraining order. On the day of the hearing, Mark died. ​ I didn’t do it. Neither did he. He was in a car accident that was tragically fatal. ​ At first, I thought that things would be better. I know it's horrible of me to say, I can barely even admit it to myself. But I thought I was finally free. And then I saw Mark in my apartment. He’s haunting me and I don’t know what to do! ​ Is there a way to get a ghost restraining order? I’ve tried moving apartments, but he’s definitely latched on to me and not the place. I had just unpacked my last box when he appeared. Sitting on my sofa and grinning at me. ​ I asked him to leave, and he laughed at me. Told me no. He doesn’t normally speak to me. He follows me everywhere, always right next to me no matter what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do. ​ I didn’t even believe in ghosts before this. ​ If anyone has any suggestions, please tell me!

I think my roommate is trying to kill me

xzuv95

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzuv95/i_think_my_roommate_is_trying_to_kill_me/

It's no secret that my roommate and I don't like each other. I found her a few months ago after my other roommate dropped out of school. I didn’t vet her much, because I needed to find someone *fast* to cover half the rent. Of course I did a background check, stalked her social media, that kind of thing. But I’d only actually talked to her one-on-one for twenty minutes before she moved in. She’s mid-twenties like me, and very pretty. Perfect blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Perfectly applied makeup, from pink eyeshadow to skin that looked like it had been airbrushed on. Sparkly white teeth with a killer smile. I think that’s why I didn’t spend more time vetting her. I assumed she must be okay because she *looks* okay. I immediately regretted my decision. Apparently, Emily is a “beauty vlogger.” She doesn’t have a real job—just sits in her room all day, trying out different makeup looks for her fans. I hear her up at all hours of the night, even, talking and giggling as she records. But at least she pays her rent. So I didn’t grumble as I cleaned up the foundation powder from our counter (seriously, what does this woman’s skin really look like? She applies like a metric ton of foundation to her face every day.) I didn’t complain when she woke me up at 2 AM with a fit of high-pitched giggles—or when I had to leave the windows open in freezing cold just to get rid of that horrible floral scent. She tried to befriend me at first, but after I sniped at her a few times, she got the message. We pleasantly ignored each other, as if an unspoken pact had been made. Things were actually fine. That all changed on September 7th. I was running late. I didn’t let the shower water run for a few minutes like I usually do. I jumped right in—and as soon as my feet hit the ceramic, they slipped out from under me. If I hadn’t grabbed the curtain rod just in time, I would’ve cracked my head open. “I’m so sorry. I’m trying out this new conditioner,” Emily explained, when I told her. “It’s super detangling. I never really noticed but I guess the bathtub does get kind of slippery. I’m so sorry.” She was being really nice about it, but I was furious. It was bad enough that she messed up the place with all her beauty gook. Now, it was a safety hazard, too? “I can’t keep doing this,” I said, trying to keep my voice from rising. “You have to keep all your makeup in your bedroom. I’m sick of cleaning up all your messes. And you can’t use weird shit in the shower that might kill me. Okay?” “Okay,” she said in a small voice. Emily was really good about keeping her stuff out of the bathroom after that. The bathtub was never slippery, and I even noticed that cloying floral scent seemed to fade. I was happy, and even felt a little bad for yelling at her so much. She pays half the rent just like I do. Why do I get to say what comes into the bathroom and what doesn’t? But then it got worse. On September 30th, I woke up early. Made my way to the fridge and, shamelessly, grabbed the milk to take a swig right out of the carton. Emily drinks fat-free, so the 2% is all mine. But as soon as the milk hit my tongue, I began to sputter. “Eugh! What—what *is* this?!” The milk didn’t taste just sour. It was acrid, burning my tongue and making my eyes tear. I ran over to the sink and spit it out. It had a strange consistency—like it had been diluted with something clear and slightly viscous. Like spit or something. Emily burst out of her bedroom. “What happened?” “Something is *really* wrong with this milk.” "Oh my God, you drank the milk?" A funny feeling settled in my stomach. "Why... why would I *not* drink the milk?" "I told you! Last night! I asked you if I could use your milk carton for a beauty mask recipe. You said sure. So I poured the remaining milk into a cup--" she pointed to an aluminum-foil-covered mug in the fridge-- "and used the carton for the mask." I cupped my hands under the faucet. Swished water in my mouth. Over and over until the acrid taste started to fade. She kept apologizing, but I could barely hear her voice over the faucet. That night I couldn’t sleep. *I don't remember her asking me about the milk carton.* That thought pulsed in my brain well into the wee hours. I got up, turned the lock, and jimmied a chair underneath the doorknob for good measure. And why my milk carton? She could've used a bowl, a bottle, a Ziploc bag. And I don't know what the hell she put in her beauty mask, but it sure tasted like poison. I kept even more distance from Emily for the next few days, trying to figure out what to do. Kicking her out would most likely result in me having to move, too, unless I could find someone else to take her place within a matter of days. *And I’m probably just being paranoid.* She was a beauty vlogger, and making some weird-ass face mask sounds just like the kind of thing that would go viral. That's what I told myself--until Friday happened. I got home late that night, a little drunk. I unlocked the door, yawning, and stepped inside. Then I flicked the light switch. It didn't go on. *Dammit*. The bulb must’ve blown. The light was on in the main hallway, so it couldn’t be a power outage. Still—the apartment was pitch dark. I fumbled through the darkness, my footsteps weaving from the alcohol, my hands stretched out in front of me-- They met something soft. *What* is *that?* I was standing in the middle of the main room. There was only the couch and TV in there. It should’ve been a clear shot to my bedroom door. I squinted into the darkness. Nothing. But it was weird—I could tell something was there. By the way the hum of the fridge muffled right in front of me. How the slight variations in black and gray changed just two feet in front of my face. *This is stupid.* I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and hit the flashlight. My heart dropped. Emily stood right in front of me. Just standing there in the middle of the room. At almost 2 AM. She faced away from me, towards the windows. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back, glinting off the phone’s flashlight. “E-emily?” I backed away. “What are you doing up so late?” She slowly turned around. She was grinning. A wide, ear-to-ear grin. Her blue eyes sparkled in the light as she stared at me. And then she giggled. A low giggle in her throat. As if she were positively delighted that I’d just arrived home. It made her entire body shake—and that’s when I noticed something glinting in her hand. A knife. I forced my legs to move. Forced myself to run towards the apartment door. But as soon as I took a step, I heard her lunge after me. Her fingers grabbed my hair—*tug—*and then I jerked forward with all my strength, ripping several out in the process. I made it to the door and burst into the hallway. Ran down the stairs, screaming the entire time. Someone must’ve dialed 911 because minutes after I made it to the parking lot, red and blue lights were throbbing in the darkness, sirens wailing in my ears. The police found Emily in the apartment. They arrested her and told me later that “Emily Ryan” was a fake name; though they haven’t been able to identify her yet. However, she did admit one thing that chilled me to the bone. Emily never had a beauty vlog.

Every Year a Demon Comes to My Town and Kidnaps a Child

y03cev

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y03cev/every_year_a_demon_comes_to_my_town_and_kidnaps_a/

**THE PROMISE** 3. For most people, this is nothing but a simple number; something to commemorate an anniversary with their one true love or, perhaps, something to represent the number of Ben and Jerry’s pints eaten after a bad breakup(you know who you are). However, in my small town in rural Arkansas, the number 3 represents something far more sinister. To us, this is the number of innocent kids that have been stolen, only to be replaced by a single life-size doll. My name, well, I suppose that’s not important. My only concern right now is sharing our story in the hopes that somebody, anybody, can stop what is happening in this Godforsaken town. Please, I am begging you, I have a little sister and I’m afraid that next year, the demon will choose her. To start, you should know that there have been 3 victims: Victim #1: Audrey Meyers, 7 years old Victim #2: Analee Jones, 5 years old Victim #3: Dixon Crawford, 8 years old From the single freckle on the tip of the nose to the golden blonde of the hair, each doll captures the child’s unique characteristics perfectly. For the past 3 years in June, a child between the ages of 5 - 12 goes missing in the middle of the night; taken from the very place where the child should feel the safest. All that is left behind in the now-empty covers of the child’s bed is a doll and the same promise that is left every year on this fateful night: A promise I make to you Money, health, and good fortune All of this will be yours too Now now, don’t get all riled Though the time has come for us to depart A child replaced with a child, That’s all I’ll take in return for your new start If it weren’t for my little sister, I would say that there’s no point in going out of your way to find the town and stop the cycle. As it turns out, the parents here no longer fear the demon that they have named “The Dollmaker.” In fact, many of the parents in this town spend their days praying for The Dollmaker to leave its promise at their house. My parents are no exception. **THE FIRST CRITERION** After the first victim went missing, 7-year-old Audrey Meyer, a pattern had not yet emerged in who The Dollmaker takes. By the second victim, however, the folks in town knew the families most likely to receive a visit from their mysterious “friend.” Being in rural Arkansas, it is probably no surprise that many of the people living here don’t exactly rank in the top 1% when it comes to wealth. Hell, most of us can’t even afford to get ourselves a new pair of tennis shoes. Instead of buying something new whenever it goes to pot, you’ll see many folks utilizing duct tape like it’s the holy grail of fixing what’s broken. I mean, come on people, do you really think duct tape can turn your deathtrap of a rusted-out 1997 Dodge pickup truck into a sportscar? Now, maybe using duct tape is a bad idea. Just maybe, however, it would have worked better if these families had just used duct tape instead of praying to a mysterious demon of the night. So far, each of the victims has come from a particularly underprivileged family. Take the first victim’s family, the Meyer’s, for example. Though they appeared to be a loving family, they couldn’t afford to feed their two kids, who were under the age of 7. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that there are numerous perfectly understandable reasons why a family might be in this situation. Growing up, I’d oftentimes see that the family would resort to hunting for their meals. Rabbits, deer, and even squirrels were all fair game for this family of four. As much as it disturbed me to see this, I understood. Hell, my family isn’t much better off. It was during one of these hunting sessions that the father, Eddie Meyer, got injured. The gossip around town surrounding the injury tells a story of Mr. Meyer’s tripping over a gangly tree root while chasing a 6-point buck in the nearby woods, snapping his ankle like a small twig. Unable to afford the hospital bill, Mr. Meyers’ ankle never healed properly, leaving him with a significant limp and chronic pain. That is, until June 16th, 2020. **THE SECOND CRITERION** Ever since The Dollmaker visited the Meyers’ residence, miracles seemed to be happening for the once poverty-stricken family. Only a few weeks after Audrey went missing, Mr. Meyer’s woke up one morning to find that he longer had a limp. Miraculously, it seemed as if the bones had been set back in place and completely healed, all in a single night and without him even noticing. In fact, this good fortune seemed to extend throughout the entire family. Loretta, Mrs. Meyers, was no longer suffering from Crohn’s disease and Eben(6) was completely cured of the asthma attacks that have plagued him since he was 3. In addition to the restoration of their health, the Meyer family had begun to see a significant influx of money coming in. So much so that, instead of hunting for their dinner, the family was now feasting on lavish meals consisting of steak and whatever side dish and dessert that they desired. Even more odd was that, at first, nobody knew where the money was coming from, not even the Meyer family themselves. It appeared that, for the very first time, The Dollmaker had fulfilled its promise. What the residents of this town didn't realize was that the Myers family's supposedly kind demeanor and The Dollmaker's oh-so-generous promise were only that: an appearance. And, as we all know, appearances can be deceiving. You see, The Dollmaker, in addition to choosing an impoverished family to visit, has a second condition that had yet to be discovered: they must be hiding a dark secret. How exactly The Dollmaker uncovers the family's secret has yet to be discovered but it can only come from months of watching and waiting. As it does, The Dollmaker begins to see things only it is privy to. Some of these things are ordinary for just about any family; little Eben of the Myers family curling up in bed with his favorite stuffed elephant named Heffalump(or Hellaphump as Eben says) or Analee Jones hopping in mud puddles while singing “Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day!” Some things that The Dollmaker sees, however, are much less wholesome. I don't know if anyone is reading this but, if you are, I promise I will be back to tell you about the first victim. For now, I have to go.

Porch Pirate

xzmycs

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzmycs/porch_pirate/

It happened to my neighbors first across the street. I overheard the conversation as I was checking my mail. “Damn porch pirates. Seems like the closer we get to the holidays the more daring they get!” Mister Carney complained as he stifled a cough. “Have you thought about installing a camera?” I asked casually as I tossed the bills and kept the rest. “Can’t afford it and can’t figure out how to install it. But I swear if they come by again they’ll be met with a mouth full of lead,” he snapped back. I chuckled at his feisty attitude and walked inside, thinking nothing of it. I don’t get very many packages and my house was on the end of the cul de sac so I didn’t think it was likely that any thieves would bother me. But it didn’t take long for them to prove me wrong. I ordered something simple on Amazon for my girlfriend, a promise ring that she’s been wanting. Typically when the delivery drivers drop the packages off right beside my garage door as it closer and I haven’t ever requested otherwise. So when the delivery date arrived and I couldn’t find the package, naturally I was a bit confused. Mister Carney saw me out there looking for it and piped up. “I saw it happen. I was inside and just as they snatched the box I tried to run out and shoo them away, but they were long gone.” I guess it was a wake up call for me to do something. But I didn’t know what. Just like my neighbor, I’m on a tight income plus it’s a rental property and my landlord wouldn’t allow cameras. I thought maybe it would be one time and the thieves would never return, but soon it became all the time I tried to get a package. It started to get under my skin. I work a lot damn it and it’s my hard earned money trying to get this stuff. Amazon would usually refund me but even then after a while they said they couldn’t. The thieves were winning and I was at a loss on what to do. Mister Carney’s method of revenge was starting to seem more appealing. But I didn’t want to hurt them. I just wanted them to stop. Legally speaking I knew if I did wind up hurting them I would be the one in jail, so I thought I might play a prank on the pirates, make them rethink ever stealing from me again. A few DIY YouTube’s showed me how I could make a soft paint bomb that would not hurt anyone. It was designed as a prank on friends. And claimed that it was guaranteed to work. I figured that a face full of paint would send a message that I was tired of them fucking with me. I went to a nearby grocery store and asked around for one of their empty boxes and took it home to set the trap. It didn’t take long before it looked just like an ordinary package and I set it out by the garage. I was expecting just a bunch of paint every where when I went to inspect later. Or even better catching the thief red handed. And that was actually what wound up happening. I was just about to cook dinner when I heard this loud pop and I knew the trap had been sprung. I actually felt giddy as I opened the garage door to confront the pirate. But on the other side of the door I can’t even explain my shock as I saw what was there lying in a mess of paint. First off, it was not human. It was this misshapen thing that looked like a cross between a toad, a hedgehog and a tiny person with raggedy ears and broken teeth. It’s skin was leathery and it’s back was covered in bristles. It was completely naked too, with weird hoop piercings on its chest and it’s backwards bent legs flailing as it choked on the paint in surprise. At that point I didn’t know what to do or how to respond. The plan that I had was tossed out the window. And as it’s black soulless eyes opened and stared toward me, all I could sense was danger. I backed into my house and slammed the door close, hoping that the creature would just go away. Instead I heard it scratch and claw at the door, trying to find me and make me pay for what I had just done. I tried to think of where my phone was so I could call 911. Then the door burst down and the creature scratched me across my face. I fell backward as it slithered into my kitchen, drooling and gagging on the paint as it began to use its jagged fingernails against my legs. I kicked and flailed, running toward the magnetic strip above my stove where I kept my carving knives. I grabbed one and tossed it at the creature, jabbing it in the side. The thing shrieked louder than a newborn infant. I grabbed another to defend myself, slowly moving toward the open door that led outside. I knew it could lunge at any moment but thankfully the fresh injury kept it occupied just long enough that I could rush down the street. My eyes scanned the neighborhood for help. I saw Mister Carney out watering his plants and started waving my hands. “Call 911!!” I shouted. But the old man is half deaf. He turned toward me as I heard the creature running toward me. I dropped to the ground and it lunged for him, pushing him down to the flowerbed and clawing at his throat. Mister Carney was choking on his own bile a few moments later. I ran toward my house again and finally found my phone while the creature was distracted but it really didn’t do any good. By the time the police arrived the gremlin was gone and so was my neighbor. They asked around to see if anyone actually saw anything and unfortunately for me, the only verified thing anyone could report was they thought they saw me attacking Mister Carney. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to answer police questions without sounding like a lunatic. It’s late now, and I am back home. My back door is still busted down and I don’t have the energy to fix it. Plus I’m not sure it would prevent the creature from coming in anyway. I took a shower and told myself maybe it was all over, but I knew it was just another placating lie. The gremlin returned about an hour later, this time to raid my kitchen for food. I didn’t even dare to engage with it this time as it took what it wanted and then scurried into the night. the silence and tension in the room told me that it was asserting dominance and telling me it would return when it felt like it and take what it wanted. Sure enough, the next time I ordered something my package was gone again. It doesn’t happen every time now though because I offer something in its place, a bowl of food or drink or something to appease the imp. I think I can live with that if it means it won’t attack me anymore. You can live with just about anything once you live in fear.

Jimmy in the Trees

xzymqc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzymqc/jimmy_in_the_trees/

Every town has its own scary story. Whether it’s ladies in white, haunted and abandoned buildings, supernatural forces, we all have something. With Halloween coming up, I felt like I should talk about my hometown’s spirit: Jimmy in the Trees. When I was younger, I was always told to be home before the streetlights came on, as I believe we all were, but the reasoning was far different. “You get back in here before dark, Tommy,” my mother would say, “you don’t want Jimmy in the Trees seeing you out there.” The sentence alone would cause enough fear to ripple through me that I hadn’t once dared to test it. I didn’t know much about Jimmy’s story at the time, but I knew even then that my mother’s words had held some ounce of truth within them. The part that made the whole belief in Jimmy even worse was that next to every street had a line of trees on it, or every house had a tree in its yard; suffice to say, Jimmy could be anywhere, at any point, just watching for his next catch. I always imagined him as a kid like me, but with white eyes and for some reason in amish clothes. I think that’s because Children of the Corn was a big movie back then, and there were parallels to Jimmy, at least in my prepubescent mind. Even mine and my friends' grandparents held some belief in Jimmy, as anytime we would visit they would threaten to send us out at night to let JImmy take us away. So many of us believed in the character that we hadn’t dared to press on the story for so long. That was until Jonathan decided to defy his parents. He was a close friend of mine back then, and I remember being at the playground with him as the sun was going down. The streetlights were just starting to activate, signifying that it was time to head in, and the group of us were all finishing up our games to head in. “I’m not afraid of no Jimmy.” Jonathan said. “He’s not even real, I can prove it!” We all fought with him that he shouldn’t test it. “Don’t be crazy Jonathan! You know Jimmy will get’cha!” Even now, rewriting this memory, the hairs on my arms are standing on end. Regardless, Jonathan went his own way, walking down the street and kicking along a soccer ball. He was found three weeks later in a sewer drainage tunnel. We weren’t told of his condition, but time would reveal the truth to us. The kids in town learned later in life that Jonathan was found with his eyes missing from his face, a smile carved into his cheeks in a crude and grotesque fashion. His chest was torn open and his heart was also missing, along with most of his innards being destroyed from decomposition and being eaten by rats and other creatures. The newspaper had said that he must’ve fallen into a ravine or something and got sucked into the sewer before drowning, the state of his physical condition was due to rodents finding his corpse. We all believed otherwise, even the adults. We all believed in Jimmy in the Trees. Eventually I grew up and moved away for college, and hadn’t returned to my hometown until two weeks ago as my grandfather had been hospitalised from a severe battle with lung cancer. I don’t know why, but when I went to visit him, the thought of Jimmy wouldn’t leave my mind, and I was compelled to ask about it; now that I was older, I was curious to know the full story of Jimmy in the Trees, and what the whole deal was with him. When I asked him to tell me about it, my grandfather’s eyes immediately filled with so much fear and sadness that I felt as if I had struck him down then and there. Yet, he composed himself, sat himself up in his bed, and he told me this. “When me and your grandmother were younger, about the same age as you were when that poor Jonathan boy had died, there was a family that lived in town with us. There was a boy that we had gone to school with named Jimmy, and there were his two parents, Elenor and Michael. Well, one day, just around sunset, Michael was found walking around town with Elenor’s head in his hands, covered in blood from head to toe. When police brought him in to question what had happened, Michael had said nothing for two days straight, he just sat there. In his cell. Staring at the wall across from him. Finally, on the third day, he snapped out of whatever was going on with him, and was confused as to why he was there. When the cops explained to him what was going on, Michael had broken down and demanded to see his wife, but they would not allow it. He asked where Jimmy was, and they told him they didn’t know, which was true. For so long no one knew what had happened to Jimmy or why Michael had brutally murdered Elenor. Michael was given the death sentence and was put to the electric chair only weeks later. The following summer, however, a man was walking his dog past Michael and Elenor’s home when the dog had gone wild, jumping at the tree in their front yard, barking and snarling at it. The dog began to tear at the bark and tear at it until finally it revealed where Jimmy had been. Somehow, and in some way, Jimmy had been shoved into the tree, his body broken and contorted in such a way that at first, the man who had found him didn’t even think it was a human body he was looking at. When he was removed from the tree, it was discovered that Jimmy’s body was in the same state as poor Jonathan’s was found, his eyes missing and his innards torn from his chest. So many children began to go missing after Jimmy was removed from the tree, and all that were found were found in the same state.” I just sat there as my grandfather said all of this, dumbfounded by the story he told. And yet, there was more to the tale. Through the week, I continued to talk to him about what had happened and even asked my grandmother and my parents about the events. The belief is that, and I know this all sounds crazy, but we believe that Jimmy was possessed by something. Something evil. And his mother had known this, so she somehow, in a way still unknown to us, murdered her son and buried him in the tree in some insane fashion. Jimmy’s father was affected in the process and had killed his mother for what she had done to his son. Now, whatever evil was inside of Jimmy is within the trees, and at night, he’s able to return, enacting what was done to him on kids who dare remain outside. We have a little poem about it we teach people who come through town. *There’s an evil in town, hear this tale if you please* *Be warned of Jimmy, O’ Jimmy of the Trees* *A boy full of evil, tormented with hate* *Tortures any young soul that stays out too late* *When the street lights go bright* *Stay out of sight* *For it’s then when Jimmy will give your heart a bite* *Believe this tale, or think it’s lies* *But be warned that Jimmy has a hunger for eyes* I’m 30 years old, and even now, I’m too scared to even look out a window at night. I swear sometimes I can feel him just outside, roaming the sidewalks, searching for any child that may be out there.

I've been visiting and reviewing haunted houses in my area this month, but there's one that seems a little too real.

y01jyo

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y01jyo/ive_been_visiting_and_reviewing_haunted_houses_in/

Most of the haunted houses I've reviewed have been ones I've found on a website or in local advertisements. I found this one by accident. I was driving down a back road to get home from a haunted house that had asked me to visit and review. This isn't a road I drove down very often, and I was surprised to see a sign indicating a new haunted house just down the road. It was late, and I wanted to just get home, but I decided I would check this one out. There was no sign in the front that listed a name, nor did the sign on the side of the road list a name. This is common with haunted houses built within residential homes by hobbyists. I find that hobbyist haunted houses are either of professional-level quality or it looks like it was built by a couple of preteen boys. There is no middle ground. At the outset, I got the impression that this was built by professionals. Heck, I was getting goosebumps just driving down the driveway, which felt like a mile long. The outside of the house was nothing special. The driveway was empty of any cars and there was a sign in the front yard that just said "please enter the front door." Ominous? Yes. Intriguing? Also, yes. If I'm being honest, I would recommend most people avoid a haunted house like this. I did some research and I couldn't find anybody talking about a haunted house anywhere on this street, let alone at this address. Me, though? I'm a man of the people. And if this haunted house doesn't have any reviews yet, then I'll be the first. As a way of prefacing what you're about to read, as of the time I'm writing this post, I have yet to write the review for this haunted house. In truth, I'm afraid to. Plus, it doesn't have a name. I decided to park in the grass a short distance away from the house. As I approached the house, I noticed that, on the second floor of the house, a light turned on. The only other lights that were on before this were the porch light and the lights for the sign in the front yard. This put me at ease for a moment, I assumed that whoever runs this place just realized they had a visitor. Throughout the whole process, I never met the owner of the house. When I got to the porch, looking inside the wide open front door, there was a layer of black fog blocking my vision of what was inside. I waited there for a second to see if there was gonna be someone to take me inside, but nobody ever came out. Instead, a decrepit, inhuman hand reached out from the fog and gestured for me to walk inside. Despite my better judgment, I walk in. There were many obvious warning signs that I shouldn't enter this house, but I figured that only two things could be happening if I haven't seen this house mentioned anywhere. Either everybody that walks into this house never leaves it, or nobody has had the guts to walk in in the first place. Call me a skeptic, but I find it unlikely that nobody would have noticed people going missing. ​ After getting past the layer of fog at the entrance of the house, I was expecting to see arrows pointing me to where to go next, but I find nothing of the sort. Instead, I find a completely normal home. The front door leads into an entry hall with two adjacent staircases on either side. When I looked behind me, all the black fog had disappeared and the front door had closed. I didn't hear the door close. Now I'm just confused. This is a haunted house, but there was not a single piece of anything that I would expect in a haunted house. This couldn't have been a mistake, there were signs clearly saying that this was a haunted house and a creepy hand gesturing me in. Without anything indicating where I needed to go next, I start exploring. I remembered the light that turned on on the second floor, so I went there first. To my dismay, there were no lights on. The room where the light came was a nursery with two cribs in it. I'm not sure why a family with two infants would be putting on a haunted house, but at this point, that's not the weirdest thing about this place. Moving on, I went back downstairs and continued down the entry hall into the living room. Everything was normal here except for the TV, which was showing static like those old tube TVs. I found the remote to try to turn it off, but it wasn't doing anything. At this point, I was thinking about leaving, but I wanted to stay a bit longer to see if there was actually anything in this place. I mean, why would they go through the trouble of putting up signs, a fog machine, and a fake hand for nothing? I decided to open the blinds in the living room to see if there was anything in the backyard. Well, there was nothing in the backyard, but I did see something in the windows. As soon as I opened the blinds, the faint light from the front yard created a glare in the windows. I immediately saw the same hand that gestured to me on the railing of the stairs, and whoever was walking up the stairs was making absolutely no sound. Okay, now this was starting to feel like a haunted house, if unconventional. I immediately bolted to the entry hall and looked at what was walking up the stairs, but there was nothing. I wanted to pull out my flashlight, but I thought that would ruin whatever experience these people had for me. I walked up the stairs and discovered that whatever was walking up the stairs left behind some mysterious sticky black substance on the railings. Think of molasses but less smooth and a more looking-into-a-black-hole kind of black. I couldn't find anything upstairs. The trail of substance stopped when the railing stopped and there was no more of the substance anywhere else. For all I know, whoever this vanished at the top of the stairs. This was starting to get a little too weird. I'm used to haunted houses being immersive enough to scare you, but still making it clear that it's all just a show. I decided to leave after that. But this house had one more thing for me. When I opened the front door and walked out, I noticed a piece of paper on the ground. It's different every time you visit, I look forward to seeing you again. If the owner's goal was to make me feel like it was all real, they succeeded with flying colors. That was the worst scare I've experienced in a haunted house in years, maybe ever. What do y'all think? [Should I visit again](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1k3vc/i_dont_think_that_person_was_a_person_at_all/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3), or would I be better off reviewing more established haunted houses?

All My Exes Die After We Break Up - The Curse of Hollyeve: Casey - Part 3

xzx4ni

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzx4ni/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/

[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xvwn3d/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxidln/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1c12x/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) The intensity of Hollyeve’s newfound presence in my life scared me. I decided it was best to back off, at least for a while.  I successfully kept Hollyeve out of my life for almost a year when I received a message from Casey on Reddit. Casey was unlike the other Hollyeve informants - younger, brighter and unbroken. He was actually still in high school and it was unclear if he was intentionally goth or if he was just pale and wore dark clothes. Hollyeve showed up at his school on the first day of school. He was drawn to her immediately. It was like someone had cooked up a fellow odd, semi-goth, who struggled to make conversation, and dropped her into his little rural town along the rugged northern California coast. Like Colin, his hometown was in the same county I grew up in.   Casey and Hollyeve started a quiet romance. They ate lunch together. Two weirdos in the back of the lunchroom. They walked home together. Two weirdos who happily cut through the cemetery to get home quicker. They listened to ambient music in his room alone.  They would make out for hours in his room. Never worrying about whether his casino-addicted parents would come home. Casey would then walk Hollyeve home to a dark house on the edge of town. They would share a kiss and then she’d slink away. Never inviting him in.  One night as they stood there in her driveway - he told her he loved her.  The phrase seemed to startle her. She froze up and stared at him for an awkward 10 seconds.  Eventually, she kissed him.  *Then he never saw her again.*  Casey asked around at school. No one knew anything about her. The school office had no record of a student by that name.  He went to her house and walked up close. Knocked on the door. It appeared to be abandoned. *Had he never actually watched her walk in?*  Casey started Googling Hollyeve and quickly came across the subreddit about her curse.  It took him a long time to absorb everything, but it also started to make sense. It seemed all of the people on the Sub who ran into Hollyeve were on the rural coast of northern California and it seemed to span over the course of 20 years. I was the only one who responded to Casey’s message. I noted it seemed like things had gone quiet on the Hollyeve front. It may have been in response to Hollyeve suddenly getting stronger not long before.  I told Casey about the origin story of Hollyeve and Colin and their false, broken love.  Casey then dropped a bombshell. She had found some actual information online about Hollyeve as a teenage girl and she tracked down Hollyeve’s mom, Kelly, and had met with her.  Casey earned Kelly’s trust and got her to share even more about the manipulation of Colin and how it broke Hollyeve’s heart and spirit. The poor young girl really thought they were in love and when you are 13, you think everything that happens to you is the rest of your life.  Kelly also explained what happened to Hollyeve that Colin would only hint at.  Kelly wasn’t sure how it started, and she didn’t want to believe that Hollyeve started it herself, but Hollyeve’s house nearly burnt down the night Colin broke up with her. Hollyeve never got out. They found something Hollyeve wore next to where her body was - a silver necklace that was half of a heart. Kelly was able to remember Hollyeve had started wearing it a few weeks before. She had asked about it and Hollyeve had said it was from a boy, and he had the other half.  Kelly had Hollyeve’s half of the heart necklace. She didn’t know where the other half was.  I felt like we suddenly had an incredible clue…and a potential solution.  *Could we solve the Curse if we could get the other half of the heart necklace back?*  We had to track down Colin.  Colin wouldn’t respond to any of my messages. I worried he might be dead. Casey and I had to sleuth hard online and turn into private investigators just to track him down.  We were both determined. I wanted to finally be able to find my true love and Casey wanted to get some closure with his first true love.  We eventually found him.  Colin lived alone in a nice part of San Francisco. He seemed unemployed and the only thing in his life which appeared to be any kind of obligation was walking to the strip clubs on Broadway every night.  Casey and I caught him coming out of one late one night.  Colin lived like a ghost haunting a nearly empty studio apartment. All he had was a mattress on the floor and a face which looked like it was about 60, even though I knew he was in his 30s.  “I’m just trying to have nothing, so maybe then she will leave me alone. There’s nothing left to strip from me,” Colin explained.  I already knew Colin’s past romantic struggles because of Hollyeve. I didn’t know that she was otherwise still affecting him personally.  “I don’t know what happened. Suddenly I can’t get rid of her,” Colin lamented. “I’ve noticed that if I keep a low profile and live as little life as possible, that she comes around less though.” I agreed, something seemed to be going on with Hollyeve recently. Something was making her more aggressive and changing her M.O. Colin thought she could sense someone was close to unraveling her curse - solving the riddle. That she was getting desperate and angry, feeling herself slipping away and lashing out.  “What’s with going to strip clubs every night?” Casey asked, beating me to my question, which I thought was much more important at this point.  Colin’s face instantly got guilty. He struggled to get words out suddenly.  “If I pass it on…it’s better,” Colin mumbled.  “What?” Casey and I asked at the same time.  “It’s easiest if I can pass on Hollyeve to someone who she can attach to romantically, even if it’s completely fake and for money. Then I can keep her at bay. At least for a night. I have no other choice,” Colin explained.  “So then Hollyeve gets attached to these poor women who give you lap dances? But she leaves you alone?” Casey asked Colin.  Colin looked long into our eyes and I was taken back by how tired he looked. He looked like a man who hadn’t had a good night of sleep in years.  “You know you’re not going to beat this, right?” Colin asked us.  Neither of us answered.  “She’s not a person, she’s not a spirit, she’s a virus, and humans never beat viruses. Ever. She doesn’t die. She just gets passed around and then comes back again like a cold,” Colin said.  Again, no response from Casey or me.  “You’ll never be able to figure out where Hollyeve starts and ends because “it” might not even be her. My family might be even more fucked up than her’s was. Maybe she got it from me? We break people and they break us. That’s all it is,” Colin rambled.  “Do you have the other part of this?” Casey cut off Colin and showed him the half heart necklace.  Colin flinched at the sight of the jewelry. I did as well. Casey hadn’t told me he had gotten the necklace from Hollyeve’s mom.  “Where…did you get that?” Colin asked, suddenly taking on the posture and demeanor of Golum from Lord of the Rings when he sees His Precious.  “Where’s your half of the necklace?” Casey asked, sternly. — Colin kept the other half of the heart necklace in a drawer by his bed. He agreed to take it back to Hollyeve’s old bedroom with us that night.  He didn’t think that would work though. He had always had that necklace. Hollyeve could have taken it back anytime.  He would try though. We gave him no choice. We drove him up the coast in the middle of the night. Kelly had told Casey that a chunk of Hollyeve’s childhood home still existed, deep in overgrown woods. Again, Casey didn’t reveal this information to me until we were on the way there.  I used the drive to take some time and question Colin. *Why had Colin even reached out to me on Reddit in the first place?* He dismissed it away quickly. He would go through periods where he wanted to solve the curse and he thought I might be onto something. He changed his mind after he shared his story with me and nothing changed.  We made it to Hollyeve’s half burned down old home a bit before daybreak, in the darkest hours of the night, in the middle of a cold rainstorm.  Colin told us Hollyeve’s room looked to still be there - up a steep staircase. We thought Colin was following us. *We were wrong.*  We got to the top of the stairs and looked down to the bottom where we saw the flash of a knife in the shallow light of the darkened space. We watched as Colin slowly drew that knife up to his neck.  “She’s here,” Colin said softly.

I’ve been missing for a week and nobody knows I'm here

y0no3s

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0no3s/ive_been_missing_for_a_week_and_nobody_knows_im/

I’ve been missing for a week. I’m not very adventurous, and I had planned this one overnight camping trip to see if I could really do it. Just like trying a new restaurant for the first time. I had a sleeping bag, hammock, stove, a camping knife, first aid, and other essentials all packed up in a stretched-out hiking bag. That’s when my boyfriend Robert started his questions, something like this: “What’s this?” “What’s what, honey?” I looked up as I tightened the top of the bag shut, considering if the knife deep down was safe or not. “The… the whole camping thing? Is it yours?” “Yes, it’s for me. Don’t you remember when Sammie dropped it off?” Robert stood with the entire back half of his body melted into the cold shadow of our living room. “And… don’t you remember finding me those bandages?” I asked and got nothing. I continued: “Well, it’s this overnight camping I want to do.” “Tonight?” His face went still as if I was going to scream at him. “Yes, I am going tonight. Did you forget?” “So when are you going?” He reset his muscles, comforting himself in the release of words. It was nice to see it for once. But I wouldn’t again. ​ The spot was just a well-known wild camping area near the North Pennines. Many people just know it by driving by, so it’s widely discussed. It’s usually used by hikers, but this area isn’t so popular this time of year so I knew I would be fine alone. I’ve never felt so free, kind of like a teenager again. It felt like I could do anything. I had driven up and walked thirty minutes with the moon spying on me through the finger branches. The trees crowded around me when I got to the spot. Dark vein wood littered the ground and echoed dryly as I cleared the ground. I set up my hammock, made a small fire pit, and drank my coffee flask while watching the stars open their eyes to me. I studied each and every star and they began to roll and draw their burning white lines across the darkness. One of them became sharper. I couldn’t look away. I thought I saw lines and shapes inside it even. Then it blinded me like a fiery hot wave splashing over my face. ​ The day after, my eyelids were sore and achy, but I still managed to get up early. Then it happened. The police knocked at my door and informed my boyfriend I was missing. They were already staring right at him as the door swung open and let in the vile wind. “Can we come in?” Thomas led them into the kitchen where he got cups of tea ready for them. He waited for them to speak over the expanse of the unused table. I mumbled through my gasping mouth and almost tapped one of their broad shoulders before they spoke again. “Maria hasn’t been found anywhere. We checked her office, friends’ houses, extended family, and around her last seen location.” They uncomfortably paused. “There’s even no evidence that she was ever present at any of these locations over the past week since her disappearance.” Thomas looked away from the words and across the room. I went to speak since it obviously hadn’t been a whole week. But, I just heard my words clearly tapping through my skull, and nothing came out. That’s when Robert looked through me. But he was grinning in thin paper cuts. “I’m sorry we can’t be of any further help. Please let us know if you think of anything else.” They had stood up and left my boyfriend alone at the table, shutting the door slowly behind them. The hot air from the cups of tea stood beside him for a minute. My skin stretched back across my mouth. My tongue disappeared. I could taste a little blood. “Robert, Robert, please, I am here, I am not missing, you saw me right?” were some of the things my jaw hummed out in silence. He lifted his full body up and stood towards me, readying for something. He finally broke the frosty silence. “So, when are you going?” ​ Despite my disappearance, I actually managed to get into my car and back on the road. My bag was freshly stained with green and wet with blotched mud. The open windows rushed air at me and I still smelled grass on my skin. The path crunched back at my boots this time. Frost hid amongst the tree roots and under the rocks in the path. I felt the wind die down just like every other quiet winter we have around here. It was a different quiet from what I heard back home with Robert. My knees were sore from attempting the fire for the tenth time. I might have burned off some wisps of finger hair, but it hadn’t singed my skin. My sweat drowned away and the ice crept up on me as the stars came out in all their shapes. This time, the light came up to me and blinded me from behind. It burned towards me. It was Robert. ​ I crept my head up to the top of the sofa, while lying down as low as possible. He sat at the kitchen table like a dark monolith, soaking up the light. I felt my skin wiggle around like a costume. A click. His shoulders seemed to hide the back of his head. Shadows spread all around the floor. A click. I couldn’t see what the hell he was doing. I saw my camping bag right by the backdoor. A click. It was a flashlight. He played with the switch like it would do something new. Nothing. The light died and left an indistinct hunched shape, outlines burning outwards from blue to black. I could hear him shaking the table ever so slightly. My feet dug into the carpet. I ran. My hand threw itself out towards the bag. Limbs shadowed from the corners of my eyes. The door broke cold stinging my eyes. My bag dragged and shot dirt up onto my shins. The street rolled up across my eyes, empty. I came back after a few hours. It had the same quiet from the woods. He’s no longer at the house. I would report him missing, but he isn’t.

I made a horrible mistake

y06mdq

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y06mdq/i_made_a_horrible_mistake/

I 23, rented out an old building next to my university. As for context I am a history enthusiast and I love old things, I found this old timey mansion for very cheap and I said to myself “fuck it why not?“ at first glance the pictures were very dark but I could make out a few old objects, the house looked straight out of the 18th century it was just perfect, I always wished to live in those old timey house and I clicked on the “contact seller“ button without a second taught. We chatted over the phone and we met in front of the house, the previous owner was an old man and I assumed he is going to a retirement home or something since his frail hands looked like he wouldn’t be able to take care of the house anymore. He handed me the keys and saw his face slightly grin like I have taken a burden off his back. I already had my bags with me so I just went inside the house ignoring the weird encounter and started unpacking. As night fell I noticed that there were no lights only a few candles, chandeliers in some rooms and very few gas lamps. I taught this was odd but I rented this for so cheap, it could have been worse. I just ordered some food and while putting my clothes inside the drawers and hangers I noticed a night gown and it had a tag on it that said “good luck“ it really rubbed me the wrong way but I took the night gown and put it on, at my university we luckly had enough power to charge my powerbank. I just watched some videos and went to bed, something felt really off but I just ignored it and went to sleep. I had a horrid night, I kept waking up to runny faucets around the house and seeing things in the corners of my eyes. I was lucky if I slept one full hour without anything disturbing me, I also am a heavy sleeper so simple things would not wake me up like for example all my life I slept with my gandfather clock in my room without silencing it. After arriving at home again I felt very uneasy just entering the house, today I brought my cat in the house because I’d left him at the vet for a checkup. He kept seeing things in the corners of the room and hissing at nothing, good thing the past owner left me some books, they were all dusty and the pages felt lost in time. I started to read the roman while just ignoring the sharp screaming in the basement. I’m just imagining it and plus this is the best deal I’m going to get. I light up a candle and make use of the leftover meat, the screams have stopped. I try to text my best friend, no signal. As the first snowflakes of this winter drop on the window I just hope this stay gets better, I signed a contract for a year. I’m an atheist but I started praying for myself and put salt around my bed for protection. I ate the steak I made and went to bed, as I was stepping on the creaky hardwood floor I arrived to my bedroom. My cat was crawled underneath the drawer and I went in bed, I have to wake up early tomorrow. I wake up at 5 am as usual and while trying to open the door it just wouldn’t budge, the snow was door high but the weather app told me it was just cloudy with a chance of rain. I swear I heard someone whisper in my ear “this is not your house.“ I ran back upstairs and glancing at my book it wrote in big letters “GET OUT“ I am taking refugee in my bed while the thing downstairs keeps getting closer mimicking a human, the words “get out“ echoing trough the halls, I glance at the door, holding my cat tightly. May God forgive me.

Son of the Rat-King

xzpion

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzpion/son_of_the_ratking/

A Rat-King is a grotesque feat of nature. It’s one single entangled mass of rats, joined together by the tails. Entwined together, they create a giant super-rat. Rats and Rat-Kings are prevalent in folklore all throughout the world- rats, of course are known as beasts of plague and danger, and are almost universally hated. Though some scientists dismiss the existence of Rat-Kings as folklore and fiction, historical data and specimens in museums point to another conclusion- that they do indeed exist. It’s thought that rats *intentionally* tie themselves together to keep warm. Oils, liquids- and even feces help stick their tails further. The only problem is that rats stuck together probably can’t survive long together, and they are forced to either separate- or die. In Germany, there have been tales of men tying rats’ tails together to earn a quick buck from them- at least, their dead bodies. “He’s the son of the Rat-King.” “Who?” I paused, confused. I’d been watching a man fishing off the side of a lake that looked more of a swamp- something about the guy had struck me as odd. I turned and looked at the elderly woman who had approached me. “The guy you’re watching,” she explained. “We don’t know his name. We just know he comes by occasionally and fishes down there. Never comes up to town.” I’m a journalist, see, and I’d traveled all the way from Maine to Louisiana to sink my hooks into a story- a local festival the small town of Camelia’s Creek was celebrating. I had a friend who’d grown up there, and I wanted to see them and shed light on the obscure little festival. “Who’s the Rat-King?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of him.” “Local murderer,” the woman seethed. “Active back in the day- *Carlton Musakh* was his name, I believe.” “Interesting.” “People started going missing here in the old days,” she continued. “Nobody knew why. They were just gone- gone over to the lake to fish- and suddenly- gone. They went out there,” she gestured to the strange man and the lake, “and then they were gone.” “So what happened?” I pressed. “That guy took em’ and killed em’,” she explained. “And we never would have caught him had a passing hiker not have been there- just there by coincidence, seeing Carlton drag a body off down to shed.” “That’s good,” I commented. “But the Rat-King? Why’d they call him that?” “Cause of the bodies,” the woman explained. “They found the bodies all tied up together. Gutted and knotted by the intestines- all scrunched up together and all. I heard blood was all over that small cabin of his. The sight of the bodies ties by the intestines reminded some journalist of a Rat-King, and that’s-” “That’s why he was called the Rat-King,” I concluded. “Precisely,” the woman nodded. “And I think you should come back to town with me- it isn’t safe to be down here. Local legend says that his son-” again, she pointed at the man fishing down at the lake “-has the same potential as murder as his father.” She led me up, and I followed. Still, I had questions. More questions unanswered- and in that moment, I decided that the killer and his son- that would be my story. Whatever small-town festival was nothing compared to this. A murder case that very much disturbed me. Men and women tied by intestines- and later, I’d learn that their stomachs were filled of rats, all entangled together, tied and bound by blood and feces. “Wait, what does that mean?” I questioned. “Same- potential for murder?” “We don’t know where he came from,” the woman sighed, still leading me up to the town. “We just know he showed up one day. He was young back then- just a. He didn’t attend school and would only frequent the alleyways. See, that’s where the rats lived. “Okay?” “And there he’d do things to the rats- terrible things. Almost a dozen times did we catch him tying their tails together and creating those grotesque demons- Rat-Kings,” the woman- who I’d later learn was named *Elenor Green*. “And he would set the monsters loose on people and they would hunt em’ down, tear right into our flesh.” “Creepy,” I murmured. “But Rat-Kings don’t do that. And how? Aren’t the rats here gigantic?” “Right,” Elenor agreed, nodding. “But somehow the kid still did it. Catching giant rats by the tails and tying them together to create monsters. About two dozen cats had vanished before something got the guts to confront him.” “Then what?” I was taking notes now, albeit in my head. “Oh- and do you mind if I write about this- I work for a media company.” “I don’t mind,” Elenor decided, thinking. I thanked her, and she continued her tale of rats and death. “The Sheriff back then- I believe it was Mills- he chased the kid out of town. Threatened him never to come back. And he never came back after that- the disappearances of the cats stopped, and the kid disappeared.” “So where did he go?” I wondered. “Who took care of him- what did he eat?” “Nobody knows. They say the rats took care of him. At that point we didn’t know he was Carlton’s son, but eventually old Madison decided to go look for him, about a month after he left.” “Where was he?” “The old shed down at the lake.” Elenor looked back at the lake- now just barely visible. The unnerving son of a killer was still there, fishing- and for a second I wondered if he was fishing for fish- or *rats*. “Madison went down there and came back hours later, a crazed look in his eyes. He couldn’t speak of what he saw down there- just that it was too horrible and devilish and begged for nobody to go down there.” “I see.” “But he came back with hair- the boy’s hair, and Sheriff Mill’s went down to the city and had it analyzed- he had suspicions the boy was Carlton’s son- so did we all. And unfortunately, we were right.” “And nobody wanted to raise the boy right?” I inquired. “Why not?” “He rejected education, ran away from everyone,” Elenor explained. “He only spoke and lived with the rats- to this day. We haven’t seen him with anyone but those things. I’ll bet he’s still tying those poor things together.” “Creepy.” Elenor paused, sighing in and then taking a deep breath. “We also had a kid go missing a few years ago. Just gone. He was going out to play with his friends- they were playing hide and seek or something. He ran to the lake to hide and never came back.” “They didn’t arrest the man- Carlton’s son?” I asked. “He’s the only one down there.” “No evidence,” Elenor confessed. “Not much you can do when someone just disappeared.” “But the shed-” “Sheriff Mills went into the shed to check it out- came back crazed, and then he spent the last two weeks of his life unable to speak. We couldn’t really do anything- we even tried to contact the higher authorities- but we’re too small of a town to be paid attention to.” “That’s… not- not fair,” I protested. She shrugged. “It is what it is. Since then we’ve barred anyone from going down to the lake. We don’t want anyone else going missing. That’s all there is to the story.” With that, she left me off the side of a small little cafe bustling with activity. I found my friend, and I joined them, asking them how things were. Still, I couldn’t help but think about the son of the Rat-King and the story Elenor Green has bestowed upon me. Maybe that’s why I decided to head down to the lake a final time, the day before I had to leave back to the newspaper in Kasden City. I headed down there alone- not even my friend wanted to head down there with me. The man was still there, fishing, mumbling to himself- and his mumbles almost sounded like-like the squeaking of a rat. I watched from a distance, seeing piles and piles of rats next to him. *He really was fishing for rats*. He began to tie them together, slowly, and the massive rats screamed as he did so. Knotting them up and keeping them together, creating massive forms of rats. Of course- I made myself hidden, hiding within bushes and trees. The man began to walk away now, and slowly, remaining hidden- I followed. I followed until I saw him in front of a shed beaten and worn down by time- the same shed Elenor had warned me about. I saw the man open the shed- and for a split second in time- I saw the grotesque forms of the things inside that had driven Madison and Sheriff Mills insane. An amalgamation of rats- and the remains of a corpse, somehow undecomposed. Flies swarmed around the man as he entered- and the foul amalgamation inside moved as the flies deceased upon it. With one hand keep the door open and the other hand carrying a tied mass of rats, he smiled, and then threw the rats into the amalgatic corpse pile- and- *The pile of corpses moved.* A mouth- a gaping hole opened and the rats was swallowed into the form. And then what happened next shook me to the core- he turned to look in my direction, smiled further, and mouthed. *“You’re next.”* That’s when I ran. I ran until I could run no longer, halfway between the town and the lake. I threw up right then and there- and then I ran further, back to the town- back to safety. And that’s it. The end of my story. I hope by telling the story of the town someone finally pays attention and stops him before more people die- and destroy whatever he was feeding inside the shed. I don’t know what that thing was but I’m glad I didn’t see enough of it to drive me insane. Be careful if you’re traveling down there in Louisiana. *You might just encounter the son of the* [Rat-King.](https://www.reddit.com/r/JulianPageInstitute/)

I’ve been squatting in a condemned high rise. These are the rules I follow to stay safe.

xyx284

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyx284/ive_been_squatting_in_a_condemned_high_rise_these/

I’m not homeless. I have a home. I just don’t own it. But it’s mine and I work to keep it. Every city has its fair share of abandoned buildings to squat in, but usually you gotta deal with either cops or shitty neighbours. The Annedale High Rise has neither. Police stay away, so do the locals. As a stranger from out of town I stumbled across the place on my first night in the city and thought it a little strange that a 28 story tower block had been left to rot. Every window black. Every light in the courtyard smashed. No cars in the lot. No booth for a guard. Not even barbed wire on the fence. Barely half-a-mile from a playground filled with shouting drunken teenagers but none of them strayed in the direction of Annedale. No fires or music or bottles hurtling through the air. It was silent. Inside, I found that the lobby had been torn to shit. Double doors ripped open and left that way for what looked like years. Easy access for the curious, but I was the only one there. Most of the first story had collapsed. Waterlogged ceiling tiles turned to mulch by shitty British weather. I know water is invasive, but it had practically fucking colonised the place so bad algae was growing up the walls. Even the elevator shaft was flooded. My own reflection looking back at me as I peered through brackish water and caught a glimpse of the old rusted carriage just a few feet below. I couldn’t help but think about standing on top of it, waist high, and reaching down to pull open the emergency hatch. Only natural to wonder what was down there. Little metal box soaking in pitch black water for years and years. I thought about pressing the button, calling it up and seeing the elevator rise in spite of all logic. An image I still think of from time to time. Meanwhile the empty shaft loomed above, cables whistling in the wind. I’ve learned not to linger by it. If you look up you’ll sometimes see something ducking out of the way, pulling its head through the doors before you get a good look. It finds it awfully funny, even tries to make a game out of it, like peekaboo. Play too much though and it starts to pop up elsewhere. Any open door becomes an invitation. Sent more than a few people running for their lives in the middle of the night, but bad news for them. That thing is more than free to leave this place if it’s part of a game. If you ask about Annedale most people just shrug or laugh. Kids’ll talk about it same way they talk about any haunted house. Difference is no one dares anyone to go up there. No one uses it to get pissed or high. No one sneaks into the basement to have a risky little fuck. No one hides their stashes there. It has all the hallmarks of your classic urban legend, only people *actually* stay away. They’ll laugh and joke and tell scary stories, but they treat the soil its on like it houses a radioactive leak. And the council, I’m surprised they haven’t knocked it down but they, out of everyone in the city, have the most to lose by talking about it. They built it in the mid fifties as government housing. Only a lot of the young mothers who moved in there found their children’s health taking a turn for the worse. Started with newborns. Babies that wouldn’t wake after a peaceful night’s sleep. The kinda deaths that got written off as either negligence or abuse, screaming teenage girls hauled off to prison on the words of doctors who didn’t give a shit. It’s always the mother’s fault in some people’s eyes, and these girls had no one to stand up for them. Two in the first year, four in the next, and they kept on coming for every year until it closed. Wasn’t until 1982 that someone traced the source of deaths to tainted water storage on the roof. Toxic metals leeching into the supply. Not enough to kill an adult, but bad news for anyone with weak immune systems. Thirty eight women had been imprisoned by then. Another twenty three had killed themselves before they could be sentenced. And those are just the ones accounted for. Not all the deaths were from the water. Annedale has a way of being bad for any child’s health, no matter the circumstance. More than a few toddlers starved to death as their parents rotted in the tub from an overdose. Even more were lost when they found their parent’s stash, little bodies wracked with agonising fits as their panicked mothers screamed for help. One tripped down the elevator shaft because the doors opened as if the carriage was right there. And those are the ones who were found. Plenty more went missing, written off as runaways. In the end Annedale’s reputation as a cursed place got so bad the only way out was to shut the whole thing down. Board it up. Erase it from the records. Pretend it never happened and just forget. But Annedale kept on killing even after the doors were officially shut. If anything it only got nastier. Talked to one cop who told me he found a guy dead from sepsis on the sixth floor couple years after the place was shut down. No one could fucking believe it. They reckon this guy scratched himself on a nail and caught gangrene like it was the 1800s. Never went to the hospital. Just laid there and died slowly and painfully as the infection spread, but not before he took every last bit of furniture in the room and shoved it against the door. Strange enough on its own, but it was the flag he’d made out of his own clothes that freaked everyone out. He’d scrawled *HELP* on it, like he wanted to get someone’s attention down below even though the lock was on his side. He could’ve left anytime he wanted. Cop I spoke to said he was there when they kicked the door down. Still remembers the look in dead man’s eyes. He was glaring at the door two days after he’d passed, white knuckled fists gripping a blanket that smelled sickly sweet from all that infection. There were others too. Lots of people falling, many of them without a good reason. Got so bad they bricked the roof door but by the time I arrived someone had cleared it all away with a sledge hammer. I still don’t hang out up there. Not after I first went up and saw pale fingers gripping the ledge, like someone was hanging off it and holding on for dear life. I reckon a lotta people see something like that and think a person needs their help. They go rushing over to offer a hand. But when I saw it something about those grimy nails set alarm bells off in my head. Fingers looked all wrong. So I took my coat off and used a broom handle to move it closer to the ledge. Sure enough those ugly hands snatched at the coat and ripped it outta my hands, sending it hurtling to the parking lot below. I’ve thought about taking a closer look from time to time, but I got a thing about heights and could never bring myself to investigate it much further. You’d think I’d leave, but it’s my home. I own it as much as it owns me. People even refer to me as the caretaker now like they forgot I wasn’t always here. Police treat me the same, can you believe that? Any reports of a break in and they call me on my number to go take a look, like I’m some sort of official. Only other guy who was here as long as me was the philosopher. I don’t know his name, just call him that because of the books he left behind. He came here back when the block was still just a place to live and he stuck around for a few years after its closure. Lots of notebooks in his flat. Thousands of pages talking about child sacrifice made to gods who don’t like being named, along with pictures of strange things frozen in ice and medical photos that look fake. At first I thought he came to document the curse. He has dozens of books just recording all the strange things he saw, like birds with too many wings or milk that turned to clotted blood in the bottle. But after going through every thing he owned I found letters to a wife who’d died in childbirth. He kept her death certificate way at the back of an old looking box filled with the letters he’d kept writing her long after the date. Another box, just a row over, had the letters she’d written back. Awful things scrawled on random scraps, shit and blood for ink. He dated them himself and sometimes wrote notes about how they came to him. *Delivered by a rat that was cannibalised in front of me.* *Pulled by my dentist from a cavity in my mouth.* *Written in the web of a spider with thirteen legs.* Anyway, he gives away the real reason he moved to Annedale in one of the letters. Says that Annedale was the key to helping her, that he was weeks away from figuring out how to open the door. Told his wife he’d bring her back. Told her he knew how. I’ve never figured out where he went next or what happened to him, but his apartment was locked when I found it and likely would’ve stayed that way if the key hadn’t turned up in my inside pocket on the first morning. Now I live in his old place. It’s safe in there. He’s written things on the wall that keep everything well behaved. Symbols that I don’t understand but which are easy to trace so that’s what I do. I go over them every couple of months and so far they’ve kept me safe and sane. Because you do need protection in Annedale. I don’t know when in its history the curse went from something mundane to something very real and very dark. It wasn’t all just bad luck or poverty, not by the end and certainly not anymore. You can’t just go strolling around Annedale, certainly not at night. It’s dangerous. For one thing, it attracts a constant rotation of the deeply unwell who are likely to attack on sight, if you’re luckly. They usually turn up dead in the halls come morning, although sometimes it’s just bits of them that I come across. Strips of skin floating on the brackish water that floods the basement stairwell, or bloodied fingernails embedded in the ceiling plaster. Weirdest one was a single tooth in a lightbulb, bloody gum still attached to the root, the glass all around it somehow intact. Many of them come here with business, something a little like the philosopher’s. Rituals. Bargains. Things like that. It’s not a good idea to interrupt them, or to give them even the slightest hint you might be a problem. Every night I lock my door and wait for Annedale’s business to finish and come morning I do a sweep, floor by floor, and clean up whatever’s left of the tower block’s strange pilgrims. Most of the rituals don’t look real to me. In fact, I reckon a lotta people who come here just end up as victims of something or someone else. There are a *lot* of reasons to stay out of Annedale at night, and most of its visitors strike me as a little naïve. Most of what I see looks like it got stolen from a bad death metal album. I once found a book called “Satanism and Witchcraft in the 21st Century”. It’s hard to imagine that the secret inner workings of the universe can be found in something with an ISBN number and 3000 Amazon reviews. Of course, not all attempts at exploiting Annedale’s energy are so hackneyed. I had one guy turn up at my door and pay me three grand in cash just to show him the darkest corner in the building. I wasn’t sure what he meant at first. Thought he meant light and shadow. “Sort of,” he replied when I explained this to him. “Darkness like that can be part of it. But I’m looking for a corner, has to be a right angle or more acute. Ideally, more acute. You understand that term right?” He’d seemed arrogant and that last sentence confirmed as much. Good looking guy in his late twenties, nice suit. Looked like the stereotypical banker. Acted like one too. “Plenty of places like that,” I said. “Lots of funny rooms in Annedale. People trying to make the most of limited space. Sometimes the walls meet at tight angles, sure. But I don’t know what you mean about dark. There’s the basement. It’s flooded. Can’t think of anywhere darker than that.” He bit his lip and hesitated for a second or two, as if he was actually contemplating it. “Not a bad suggestion actually, but no, too difficult to reach. And I don’t just mean dark as in the absence of light. I mean dark like under the bed. Dark like that one chip in a wall that leads to a hollow space between the bricks and as a child you can’t help but wonder what lives there. Somewhere that just inexplicably feels… like it’s not got as much of God’s attention on it as everywhere else.” I thought about this for a second. His words were vague but damn if I didn’t know what he meant. “A corner?” I asked. “Has to be an acute corner?” He nodded. “I think I know the place,” I said and he smiled like real creep. I took him to a flat on the eighth floor. It was rundown like everywhere else but there was still enough of its old furniture lying around. You can pull open random drawers in there and still see the cutlery people once used. There’s even an old analogue TV on an old stand. You can perch on what’s left of the sofa and stare at that TV and get the feeling you knew the people who lived there once. Run your thumb over the dials on the toaster, the handle of the fridge, or the yellowing plastic of a light switch, and feel an aching loss that creeps up on you out of nowhere. Look up and you’ll see that the light fixture has been torn out of the ceiling, like someone had tried swinging from it. Not a big place, by the way. Three rooms. A bedroom with a double bed all rumpled up. A living room slash kitchen. And a tiny little spare room that looked like it once would have been used for storage, or a washing machine maybe, *if* you were single and childless. A slither of space, a triangle carved out of whatever room was left over when other more important walls had been put up. That sofa I mentioned, the TV, they were all placed so whoever was sat down could always keep an eye on that room and its contents. You see they’d put a cot inside and it’s still there, bluebottle flies circling overhead. You can’t see inside the cot, not unless you went in and actually pulled the blankets out but it’s been decades and no one has managed it yet. It’s dark behind those old blankets, a heavy shadow that dissuades a closer look, like there’s something in there no one needs to see and it’s spent a long time sat there eating what little light there was. Even with a window in that room, daylight doesn’t really filter down. “Perfect,” the businessman said when he saw it. He gazed around the flat one detail at a time, his head pausing for a moment and a smile creeping across his face as he laid his eyes on the broken light fixture. And the cot, the sight of it, the flies that still circled above faded Winnie the Pooh blankets, it made the breath catch in his throat. “Oh this is… *yes* this is good,” he told me. “Dark like under the bed. You’ve earned that money. I could have had a dozen men sweep this place and they wouldn’t have understood the brief as well as you have.” “Thank you,” I replied even if that wasn’t really how I felt. Quietly the man sat down and began to unpack his leather satchel. No pentagrams to be found, although he did unpack seven strange looking candles. He caught me looking at them and smiled. “Home made,” he said. “Each one shaped by my hands. I’m not a good artist, but it’s the effort that counts. Took forever to rend the wax. Of course that was the easy part. The hard part was getting the fat to make it. Did you know there can be a surprisingly high level of security around a hospital’s medical waste department?” “I didn’t,” I replied as he took out some flimsy bits of wood and a few small nails. He oh so carefully began to nail the splinters of wood together into what looked like random shapes. “Oh well,” he sighed after a few quiet moments, his fingers nimbly gripping the tiny hammer as he tapped away. Already he’d put together at least six of the strange little wooden polygons, and with each new one I felt a strange sensation. “Would you like to stay and watch?” he asked. “Absolutely not,” I answered. He stopped tapping and smiled once more. “Oh you’re clever,” he said. “That’s the correct answer, by the way. And if I’m to respect it, I should inform you that now is the safest time to leave.” I made my way to the exit just as he lit the first candles, but not before I looked towards the cot one last time. I was surprised to see a hollow blackness that extended beyond the doorway, like a curtain had been draped across it, only there was depth to it that drew the eye. The businessman paid it no attention, but after a few more seconds he eventually looked up at me expectantly. “Can I ask what is it you want?” I said. “Everyone who comes here, I don’t get the sense it ever works out for them.” “I’m looking for a new kind of afterlife,” he replied. “Do you need one?” “We all need one,” he said with a wry chuckle. “But only those of us willing to take a few risks will get a better deal. Everyone else…” He grimaced. “It’s worth the bother. But look who I’m speaking to.” He looked to the darkness that enveloped the doorway. Shapes could be seen floating past. “You should leave now,” he said. I pulled the door shut and, noticing that the sun was rapidly setting, ran to my apartment where I knew the walls would keep me safe. When I returned the next day the man’s satchel was still where I’d last seen it, propped against one arm of the sofa. The candles had burned down to the very end of the wicks and left a lingering smell that’s still there all these years later. And of the man himself, well in the room with the cot—which still has bluebottle flies orbiting overhead—there is now a shadow burned into the wall. It’s blurry and diffused, but vaguely recognisable as a man on his knees, his head pressed to the floor in a gesture of supplication. I’ve known it to occasionally move, to turn its head and look towards me at which my point my temples throb, my ears pop, and a darkness begins to encroach upon the edges of my vision. I never exactly considered that flat to be Disneyland before, but now I avoid it like the plague. Still, it could be worse. Not every ritual ends so cleanly and at times I’ve had to personally intervene, something I hate bitterly. If people want to go poking around in the universe’s undercarriage that’s their business. It’s one thing if I’ve got to sweep what’s left of them up afterwards but at least that’s a one and done job. Sometimes it isn’t so clean. One guy turned up and told me he’d be a new “resident”, my neighbour, and we’d get to know each other. A bumbling old man with an upper class accent and the look of a professor who was down on his luck. He set up in the room next to mine and no matter how little I spoke to him, he never really got the hint and kept trying to act like a good friend. Few times I did initiate conversation it was to tell him the place he’d chosen didn’t have much in the way of protection. He pointed to some funny little rashes and told me *they* were his protection. Over the next few weeks I’d bump into him from time to time, always on his hands and knees, scraping some dank corner or mouldy pile of bumpy growths. He collected fungi, told me on the first day, and I’d often see him wiping his samples onto petri dishes that he whispered quiet words to whenever he thought I wasn’t around. I don’t think he was sane, but he probably wasn’t completely barmy because he lived long enough to get a sense of Annedale and only come out in the day. Meanwhile his apartment filled up with a growing collection of chittering terrariums and pickle jars, their specimens hidden by murky fluids. All over, he planted and cultivated strange mushrooms and moulds. Encouraged them to soak up the darkness of Annedale and set them to grow in the rife conditions he’d cultivated. Towards the end his living room had mushrooms growing out the walls. Plaster crumbling beneath microbial armies until there was only concrete and rebar, and even then mould continued to grow and thrive. A few times I peered in and found him feeding meat to the frilly growths that exploded out of the old furniture. During this time the symbols on our shared wall would often grow hot, and I found myself having to replace them on a nearly daily basis as he tinkered away on the other side. I asked him once or twice to tone it down. “This is important work,” he growled, an unseen darkness creeping into his voice. “I’m not some ditzy crackhead trying to summon the Baphomet! I’m not looking to get *high*. This is science. Progress! That is what I am working towards.” “Yeah well your progress is trying to eat its way into my flat. Can you ask it to stop?” He stopped, froze in mid gesture like I’d said something either profoundly stupid or insightful, or likely a bit of both. He looked at the rashes on his arms that had, by now, started to sprout some of their own strange fruit. When he finally spoke again it was sly, like a lecherous old man propositioning a nurse. “This fungi,” he said. “They had samples of it in the university for thirty years! Can you imagine? They never even realised what they had until I found it and unlocked its potential. Now I’ve finally found the source and I can do things no one else thought possible. This entire time my thesis has depended upon the idea that the fungus has… a capacity for information processing way beyond anything we’ve considered before. And your idea is a good one, you know? Asking it just might be an option…” He scuttled off without another word and for the next few days he set about the building like a furious little honey bee in Spring. Poking and prodding, setting trap after trap and cleaning them vigorously of any rats or mice he caught. When I did my morning sweeps I’d find him hovering over Annedale’s latest victims, scraping what was left of them into transparent bags for his own purposes. “Don’t mind me,” he’d mutter. “It’s worthless to you, but these poor souls could help me achieve great things.” This persisted for another month. He no longer scraped mould or mushrooms off old apartments. He became interested only in meat, and by the time it came to an end I can say confidently that I have never smelled anything worse than the prickly musty odour that wafter out from under his locked door. It became so bad that I began to wonder if I might have to ask for police help and have him removed when, finally, he simply disappeared from Annedale’s halls. One morning he was there, annoyingly shooing me out of the way as he lowered jars into the flooded basement, and then the next he was gone and Annedale’s halls were silent once more. But that didn’t mean he had moved out. Far from it, actually. It took two days before I decided to just go ahead and break his door down. I kicked at it with a short sharp blow only to find my leg immediately disappeared through wood that had the texture of sodden cardboard. I freed my foot and tried a different tactic, grabbing the handle and pulling so hard that it simply *popped* right out of the rancid wooden frame. Free to move, the door swung open with an eerie creak and fetid air, hot and damp, blew out of the room. Inside I found that the man’s specimens had gone wild. Terrariums had shattered, their contents spilling outwards. Frogs as large as footballs glared at me from behind furry fronds, and insects with human eyes scuttled away before the amphibians could snatch them up. In one corner rats had built a hive out of old cardboard, their backs covered with fungal growths that resembled human fingers and other appendages. In another corner something that looked a little like a black rubber sheet slapped furiously at passing vermin and it took me a few seconds to realise it was a slime mould. When it finally caught something it dragged the strange creature squealing into the dark corner where it grew and constricted around its meal like a fist. I stared at it horrified until one by one black orbs unveiled itself from within the strange mass and I realised it had eyes to stare right back at me. It was a cacophony of God awful terror, so gripping that it kept me from hearing the muffled noise of a human struggling to speak. Eventually it did reach my ears and I used my torch to light up the far wall without having to actually step inside. I found the scientist half-grown into the wall. Algae and moss coated him head-to-toe so that he was no longer recognisable, but I had to assume it could be no one else. Wide eyes glared at me with terror and pain as nasty little critters nibbled away at what was left of his shins, meanwhile strange tendrils probed at his ears and head, never resting for a moment. He kept trying to speak, but the algal growths kept driving their way into his mouth until, one-by-one, they pushed too far and something snapped. His eyes went wider still, his squeals became hysterical, and his jaw slowly slid further down his chest until it hit the floor with a sodden thump. “Finally made contact?” I asked. “An awful idea if I’ve heard one. What would a mushroom have to say even in the best of circumstances? Let alone one that was grown in the ruins of Annedale? I can only assume you never got around to telling it to stay off my wall, did you? No you probably had your own reason or doing all of this and that’s what took priority.” That made me wonder what it was he’d asked for. As the thought entered my head I took a quick look around and tried to see if anything particular stood out to me. Something was growing on the sofa that looked strangely human-shaped. It might have been just my imagination, but in the dark it seemed to turn towards me. Meanwhile the scientist continued to shiver in agony, his eyes focused on me and begging for help. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said before slamming the door. Something about that strange pile on the sofa had deeply unsettled me. I put the word out, asked for a gun, but got a crossbow instead a few days later. A nervous looking sixteen year old boy ferried it to my door. I was surprised he’d entered the building, but who knows who’d ordered him to do so. I’ve acquired a strange sort of respect amongst the locals and it comes in handy. This boy looked like he would have stamped on my head and robbed me blind any other day, but when he spoke to me he did so with more respect than I ever imagined I deserved. I thanked him, took the crossbow, spent an afternoon practicing with it, and then used it to kill the scientist the next morning. Took a few hits, but in the end one thumped into his forehead and shut down his whimpered moans. I didn’t see anything on the sofa this time, at least not anything human-shaped, which I was thankful for. After that it was a simple case of calling the police and beginning a long chain of events that ended with half-a-dozen men in hazmat suits spraying the room with noxious chemicals. For a while there I’d been worried that they’d find a corpse and ask questions, but by the time anyone actually entered the room there was nothing left of the scientist save a splotch on the floor. I never did figure out exactly what it was he was after, although it is not uncommon for my morning sweep to turn up a body (or part of) covered in fungal growths. And I have been known to occasionally catch glimpses of a strange person lowering themselves into the floodwater of the elevator shaft. Of course I might just be making connections that aren’t really there. All sorts of things live in that water. The entire level is flooded and if something was down there, it’d have free reign over quite a large space. It's a strange world down there. I should know on account of one visitor who gave me a very bad time. I’ll call him the fisherman since he came to Annedale because of the flooded basement. Saw a photo that’s been circulating around for a while now, if you know where to look. God knows who took it and how, but it shows the flooded stairwell leading to the basement and beneath the brackish surface is a hand that’s all out of proportion. Fingers splayed with perfect symmetry like a starfish, it is reaching up out of the depths and resting gently on the third step below the water. When I first met him he was sitting happily with his feet over the edge of the flooded shaft, water up to his knees, with a rod and line set up beside him. It was quite a surprise at first, seeing him there with a little fly-fishing hat. A chubby but healthy looking man in his forties with an egg mayo sandwich in one hand and a phone playing candy crush in the other. I called out to him as I approached because, in my experience, startling someone in Annedale is bad for your health no matter how sane the visitor appears. He looked up when I caught his attention and smiled amiably. “Hello,” he waved with his sandwich. “You’re the caretaker?” “Yes I am,” I answered. “And you are?” “Just a tourist,” he smiled. “Care to join me?” The sun had risen only moments ago. “You weren’t here when it was dark, were you?” I asked more than a little suspicious. “Oh no you’ve only just caught me, been here barely ten minutes before you showed up. I was told you’d be willing to help in exchange for a small fee.” “What sort of help?” I asked. “Oh just give me a nudge if any of the lines start moving,” he said while pointing to a rod he’d set up beside the basement stairs. The door was propped open and the line led down into the darkness below, water gently lapping just out of sight. Another line had been set up in a corner of the lobby where the floor had been torn away revealing a hole straight down into the basement. “I can’t keep an eye on them all at once, you see. I have bells ready but, well, two heads are better than one.” “What is it exactly you’re hoping to catch down there?” I asked. “Are you familiar with the primordial ocean?” he said. “The abyssal waters that God split into light and dark, all that? It’s not a physical location, per se, but it does connect to certain bodies of water depending on the time and place. Last recorded manifestation was in a glass of old whiskey underneath a forgotten bar in Mexico City. Some poor fellow knocked it over and didn’t notice until the following day when half the bar was suddenly underwater. Quickly rectified but some of the things swimming in that water were something else, and all from at the bottom of a glass no wider than my wrist. Imagine what we can do with this!?” he said while gesturing at water by his feet. “You think there could be fish alive down there?” I asked. “At least,” he replied. “I’d be willing to pay for any reliable information, of course. Do you have any idea what might be down there?” “Not really,” I shrugged. “But I’d guess it wants to be left alone.” “Hmmm you might be right there,” he said while looking at his other rods. “I didn’t exactly put down any old lure, you know?” He reached into his pocket and took out a strange tuft of fur and ivory, holding it up for me to squint at. “A tooth from a man who drowned in the sea. A drone collected it off a shipwreck near the Norwegian coast. The fur is actually red algae that was found growing on his bones. I have plenty of these and, well, other things that might appeal to what’s on the other side. My research was thorough and expensive. Come on, take a seat. Flat fee, one thousand, just sit here until the sun starts to set.” “I just have to sit?” I asked. “And let me know if you hear or see anything.” I groaned and sat beside him, folding my legs instead of letting them dangle in the water below. Despite my reticence, we stayed like that for several hours. He’d brought lots of food, good homemade stuff, along with plenty of cold beer. We sat there and spoke very little, but we did eat and drink a tremendous amount. Not the kind of thing I do normally, but I was being paid to be there, and I didn’t really have anywhere else to be. It was, all in told, a very pleasant afternoon. Until I fell asleep. When I awoke it was with a terrible gasp. My chest was tight like something had been sitting on it, and judging from the terrible giggling and scampering feet I heard running off into the darkness, it might not have been *just* a feeling. Already panic was setting in as my eyes darted to the open doors and saw that the moon was out and had been for hours. I fumbled for my torch and turning it on saw that there was no sign of the fisherman. All his stuff had been left behind yet all that remained of him was his hat that still floated on the water. Even as I watched, a smooth glistening shape curled beneath the water and plucked it off the surface. I recoiled and crawled away from it as fast as I could. This was bad, I knew deep in my heart I’d never been as at risk I was in that moment. The open doors that led outside were tempting, but just beside them were the stairs that led downwards and I swore I could hear something approaching. I couldn’t help but picture the fungal man I’d seen in the scientist’s flat. Then again, that basement was huge and who knows what lay down there. I decided to go for the stairs. The entire time my heart was in my chest. I had never been caught outside my room at night, not since my first night when I’d slept in the lobby with my coat pulled over me. You don’t get lucky twice, not with Annedale, so I knew had to be careful. I had to be quiet. My only hope was to go unnoticed. I took to stealth, climbing each floor in perfect silence, hiding in well known spots at the slightest hint of footsteps, human or otherwise. Annedale comes alive at night. Whispered mutterings from strange children who descend from air vents, living there for God knows how long. Other times I saw apparitions including one, a toddler, the sight of whom made my stomach growl with an insatiable hunger that hurt just to contemplate. She stared at me with pleading eyes as I slunk away from her open door. I might have been tempted to help her were it not for the sight of the moon peering through her translucent image. And yet, despite all this, I somehow made it to the fourteenth floor alive. Only it was there right at the final hurdle, so close to safety, that I came across something out of my worst nightmare. A woman stood outside my apartment door. Silent. Pale. Dirt covered fingernails. It was all too often I’d open my door and find muddy impressions on the floor made by a woman’s bare feet. Now I knew who left them every night. I couldn’t see her face from where I hid, but something about her seemed profoundly familiar. When she finally turned towards me I remembered. I recognised her, even though most of her face was missing. It was the philosopher’s wife. He had succeeded, it seemed. But I couldn’t imagine at what God awful price, because the woman who stared at me had clearly weathered some years in the grave. It was only the poor lighting and her long hair that had covered up just how bad a state she was in. A lipless grin stared back at me below sunken cheekbones and hollow eye sockets. And yet, I could tell that in another life she had been beautiful which only made the sight all the more gut-wrenching. “My darling,” she whispered, and there was something about her voice that I found hard to stay sane in the face of. I don’t know why. Over a decade in that place and I’d borne witness to living nightmares, but it was *this* walking corpse that pushed me to my limits. The inescapable feeling of loss weighed me down and without realising it I found myself taking steps towards her even as my knees buckled. By the time I reached her I was crawling until I could clutch her grimy icy leg, and that was the last thing I remember before I woke up in my bed the following morning. Everything seemed normal, so completely mundane that I could’ve written the whole thing off as a bad nightmare. But there were footprints leading from my bed to the door. And later on I found the fisherman’s things much as he left them, although when I finally reeled his lines in I found the lures gone and replaced with bits and pieces of the man who’d first set them up. I threw it all into the water below and decided it would be best to forget him. Every now and again, of course, I can’t help but check my peephole at night. I never did before that, but now I do. I see her every single time. She looks sad. Hurts me to think of her out there. It ought to be terrifying but it’s more like someone’s ripped out my stomach and heart and let all my insides fall out the bottom. Each time I see her I wonder what exactly was it he did to bring her back? He leaves only one hint. A final letter, I think. It’s not like he dated them. In it he says he would give everything to have her in his arms once more. Not only his life, but everything he’s already lived. Every sunset. Every good dream. Every nightmare. Every victory. Every loss. Every little memory that makes him who he is, he’d give it all just to save her. Sometimes I wonder about him, figuring we’d probably be about the same age. I’d like to think back and imagine what it would have been like for the two of us to meet as young men, but for some reason whenever I try to remember what my life was like before I came to this city, before I woke up with that coat pulled over me… well, I don’t know… It’s just hard, that’s all. It's almost like there's nothing there. Like something reached in and took all the years away. I guess it's just one of those things I'm better off not dwelling on.

The Hensley House

xznzz8

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xznzz8/the_hensley_house/

Fugate Drive was unremarkable: a short, dead-end road that branched off from the main street of a slowly dying coal town. All of the houses were inhabited by elderly couples who stubbornly refused to leave once the mines began drying up, and extremely transient thirty-somethings who hopped houses on a slow, expensive trek to find their footing. Since most of the homes were owned and rented out by the same woman—my neighbor, Valerie—they all had the same look about them, too. It was white vinyl siding and wrought iron porch columns as far as the eye could see. It was an extremely boring place to grow up. And back in ‘96, when I was seven years old, it was where I held the unfortunate title of “The Only Kid in the Neighborhood.” My family was on the verge of dirt-eating poor, so I didn’t have much to do indoors. There were no cool toys or video games to hold me hostage. Outside wasn’t much better; there was only so much to do alone on a street inhabited by old women who’d turn the hose on me if I got too close to their yard. I spent most of my childhood being both painfully lonely and excruciatingly bored, with moments peppered in between where I’d successfully brainstorm something to do that wouldn’t get me in trouble. I found a creek where I could spend time catching frogs, which was nice until I realized I had nobody to show said frogs to. I learned that the best climbing tree was in the backyard of a rental home that was empty more often than not, though it didn’t seem as thrilling once I mastered climbing it. Sometimes, if I was desperate enough to pitch in, Valerie would tell me some interesting stories while gardening. The tales were fun, even if peonies weren’t. Without a shadow of a doubt, though, the most interesting thing to explore was the one place it seemed like Valerie didn’t own. On the other side of her home from mine and a few houses down, enveloped by trees and vines, was an uninhabited property that looked like it hadn’t been touched since before I was born. Everyone called it “The Hensley House.” The Hensley House was unique. The paint was flaking and the roof shingles were loose, and all that remained of a once pristine picket fence was a single section of wasp-infested wooden planks that bordered the sidewalk. Ancient, rusted cars slept in a gravel driveway that had been mostly reclaimed by nature. Sun-bleached curtains, now a nauseating green, were still perfectly cinched in long-dark windows, revealing porcelain figurines of red-cheeked animals gazing out at the world with beady little eyes. The backyard was a veritable jungle of out-of-control morning glories that twined low-hanging branches together so densely, it created a canopy that nearly blotted out the sun. The ground was a mess of moss and ivy, slugs and beetles, and treasures that were lost long ago, waiting for a particularly restless second grader to recover them from cracks in what had once been a lovely brick patio. When nothing else seemed interesting on a slow summer day, I could always count on getting a kick out of playing “treasure hunter” at the Hensley House. The problem was that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Valerie told me as much, saying that I was “trespassing” and “being disrespectful.” Apparently, the titular Hensleys were long dead, but had once been fiercely protective of their property. “I don’t think they’d appreciate it if you kept pokin’ around their yard, takin’ all their stuff,” she once told me, in a tone that clearly implied I was heading toward trouble. Unfortunately, I was a child who only listened to these sorts of warnings if they didn’t clash with what I wanted. I vaguely remember following up her warning by asking if anyone was currently living there, and being told no. There was some boring talk about a daughter who didn’t know what to do with the house, how technically “treasure hunting” was “stealing,” and some other junk that a kid doesn’t really care about. All I was taking out of it was that the house was empty and that meant nobody would catch me if I kept on like I had been. So, I did. I kept on like I had been, waiting until Valerie was busy or gone so she wouldn’t see me ambling around the forbidden yard through her kitchen window. And, as time went on, I got braver. Hunting for bugs and bits in the moss was fun and all, but the old shed door was cracked just enough that I could get inside and forage for anything useful or interesting. Things like old timey Avon bottles shaped like dogs and race cars, or ancient RC colas still in the carrier. Before long, I realized those cars parked by the house were unlocked and there were goodies in the glove box. Mostly papers, yellowed and brittle, that told a story about the people who used to drive them, though I *did* also find a moldy toy frog that I decided to keep amongst my hoard. There was a hole in the lattice under the screened-in back porch and I eventually got brave enough to crawl under the house, too. It’s where I found stored boxes of old, faded Christmas decorations, grimy Santas that used to light up and were now mostly covered in cobwebs and dirt. Bones, too, of a dog or coyote or *some* fanged animal that had crawled underneath the house to die and left only a jawbone as a sign that it was ever there. The screened-in back porch was the natural next progression. It was locked, but rain and time had made the metal latch incredibly brittle. Weak enough, actually, that a little good ol’ fashioned stubbornness saw it pop right off so I could take stock of things I’d only ever seen through a layer of warped mesh. Things like the worn and ragged porch furniture, made of wicker and tacky, moldy floral cushions. There were suncatchers in the shapes of hummingbirds spinning at the end of dirty strings and tied awkwardly to wherever they’d fit. Once upon a time, there’d been plants, too, but they were long gone with only the terracotta pots remaining. The dirt inside was so dry that it barely registered as dirt. It was more like ash, gritty and crumbly and having settled so far down in the containers that it had almost become a cake at the bottom. I took a suncatcher, and an entire pot of desiccated soil. For whatever reason, I found it interesting. Hell, it was *all* interesting. I felt like I was stepping back in time, getting to know secret things about secret people that I was never meant to know. This was a child’s equivalent of digging up the meteor that killed the dinosaurs. My curiosity burned me like a lit cigarette. I was hooked. Emboldened by the fact I hadn’t yet “gotten got,” I spent a lot of time trying to find other places to explore. I exhausted the shed, the cars, the porch, and aside from a few new cool spiders and slugs, I’d exhausted everything the crawl space had to offer, too. It wasn’t like I could go back to digging through moss for bottle caps, not when there were treasures left unseen and secrets buried in places I couldn’t reach. So, I started stealing trash cans from the neighbors. I got caught a few times, but eventually learned when people were at work or the store or church. I’d slip to the end of their driveways, grab my prize, and quietly drag them to the Hensley House to use as a stool to reach the windows. I wasn’t so stupid that I would try actually breaking into the house itself, but I didn’t see any harm in taking a peek. After all, the curtains were wide open and you could practically see into the living room from the street. I spent a lot of time with my hands cupped around my face, squinting past the dust in the windows. If the sun was angled just right, I could see entire rooms as clearly as if the electricity was still working. Most of them had a dingy, kelly green carpet and wood panel walls covered with dust-caked photos that were impossible to discern. The beds were made so tightly that the sheets still seemed to have a spring to them, and the kitchen was a cramped, meticulously organized affair with a blue-and-white color scheme that didn’t match anything else. The living room was cluttered in knick-knacks but was in spectacularly good shape, save for a brown recliner on the far side of the room, awkwardly tilted with a short stack of magazines in the seat. All in all, it was everything you’d imagine a grandma’s house to be. Simple. Dated. Dull. I kept hoping something interesting would catch my eye, but nothing really changed except for the spider webs. In fact, I started getting bored, and that was a feeling that brought with it a deep anxiety. After sinking so much of my summer into playing detective, the idea of doing anything else seemed foreign and empty. What was I supposed to do, after all? Go back to a life of catching frogs with no one and sitting restless in a tree? Hell no! I had to up the ante somehow, though the only thing I could figure was finding a way to actually get *in* the house. Even if I was a stupid kid, I was smart enough to realize that was beyond a bad idea. The furthest I ever got was standing on the front porch and staring at the doorbell, as if ringing it would summon somebody aside from the occasional angry neighbor trying to scare me away. Which would lead me back to looking in windows. I still couldn’t tell who was in the photos on the wall. I knew exactly how many cans of thyme were left on the kitchen counter. I was reaching first name basis with the orb weaver that was living in the bush by the bedroom window. I felt like a homicide detective that had finally run out of leads. Case closed. The Hensleys were dead, and their cool, ancient, older-than-me stuff was going to take their secrets to the grave with them. Then, there was a break in the case. I had been trapped inside by the rain for most of the week, but the sun had finally decided to come out of hiding with a vengeance. It had to have been the hottest and muggiest day of the year, but it was bright and blue and I was sick of watching bad talk shows. So, out I went. There was an urge to catch up on my daily staring contests with the Hensley’s doorbell, but I heard the shrill, excitable voice of Valerie somewhere around the corner on the main road. Showing around the new revolving door tenants, if I had to guess, and talking louder than a preacher at Sunday service. Of course, avoiding her was the best option. I turned on my heels and decided to cut through some backyards, hers included. I hopped some fences, accidentally stepped on a flower or two, and eventually made my way to the Hensley House’s thoroughly investigated property. Ivy and cracked brick crunched beneath my sneakers as I tread the same tired ground I had been haunting for weeks, eyes fixed on my feet in hopes that maybe *something* new would have popped up since the last time I was there. Hell, I’d even settle for a new snail. No such luck. I let out a resigned sigh and stopped dead in the center of the brick patio, lifting my head to look up at the gaps between the vines and trees. Spots of sunlight managed to sneak through the branches, but not enough. I could barely see the blue of the sky, and I remember finding it strange. The canopy had always been thick and the property had always been shady, but it had never been as dark as it was that day. However, a child’s mind isn’t too keen on picking up bad omens. I was at an age where I could get swiped off the street if somebody offered me enough candy, so it being a little *too* dim didn’t really set off any alarms. It was an oddity I noted before trying to figure out whose trash can would be the easiest to swipe. The Hughes family always sat out several of the big, square, sturdy ones, but they usually sat them out in plain view of the Hendersons across the street. Valerie would always notice if hers were gone because she was a stickler about things being in place. The Johnson family at the end of the road probably wouldn’t notice since they never seemed to notice anything, but I’d have to walk past some prospective renters and their loud landlady to get to them. That’s when I heard a very sharp creak that snapped me out of my train of thought. At first I thought it was a tree branch or Valerie’s back door. I braced myself for the crash of a falling limb or some unforeseen family member to burst onto Valerie’s porch, but I was met with silence. Then, another creak. This time, it didn’t take me by surprise, save for the fact that it was coming from a curious direction. My heart was thudding faster than it ever had in my life, and I found myself craning my head towards the house itself. My eyes came to rest on the culprit before my brain really had time to process what I was seeing, and I stood in silence as it took its time catching up to the moment. Through the mesh on the back porch, partially obscured by tacky suncatchers, I realized that the back door was open. Not a lot, not entirely. It was just a crack, about the width of my hand, and just obvious enough to be noticeable. My first thought wasn’t investigating. My first thought was to think back to Valerie telling me about the daughter who didn’t know what to do with the house, how she wouldn’t have appreciated me being on the property. How what I was doing was technically trespassing and stealing. Again, I froze, waiting for some stranger to come out and demand that I explain myself. And again? Nothing. I let out a long breath and loosened my posture. I walked to the edge of the house and peered around into the overgrown gravel driveway, trying to see if there was any indication of a new car. The only ones that greeted me were the rusted heaps I’d already gone through. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t anyone there, I reckoned. There was a church parking lot at the top of the hill and I’d known plenty of people to park there. Fugate Drive was a cramped mess and some folks opted to walk it rather than try to find comfortable parking. So I called out, an innocent hello with a tone that I hoped conveyed the lie that this was a first time offense for me. I played dumb as I elaborated to the air: *Hi, do you live here? I live just down the road. I was cutting through on the way to a friend’s house. I’m sorry.* Silence. I checked for a car again. I checked to make sure the coast was clear. I uttered another greeting and wound up with nothing in return. My thoughts shifted. Maybe somebody *was* in there, probably this hypothetical daughter. Or her cousin or brother or aunt or uncle. Maybe whoever it was happened to be somewhere on the other end of the house and didn’t realize they left the back door open. Or, worse yet, maybe they were already gone and didn’t realize it didn’t latch. Either way, it wasn’t safe. What if somebody got in that wasn’t supposed to be there? That would be positively awful, wouldn’t it? Motivated by only the *faintest* desire to see the inside of the Hensley House, I cautiously began to edge forward, across the brick patio and up the steps. I pulled open the broken door to the screened-in porch and hesitated before knocking a bit too quietly on the back door itself. My voice was faint as I muttered another “hello” through the crack. My second knock was more calculated, louder and more forceful, so that the door squeaked open just enough to see inside. Which, admittedly, was difficult to do even with the door open. It was too dark. So, I poked my head in for a better look and was hit with the distinct odor of mildew, dust, and something sour that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Considering that the back door led into the kitchen and electricity was nothing but an ancient memory, I figured it probably had something to do with sour milk, bad meat. Years of rot and grossness that had been left to fester and nothing I needed to be too worried about so long as I didn’t yank open the fridge to investigate further. Covering my nose with my shirt, I took a tentative step inside. It was hotter indoors, and somehow more humid. The kitchen tile was sticky with some unknown substance, and dusty enough that I left prints in my wake. A single point of light could be seen at the opposite end of the house—the living room window, visible from the kitchen—but it was filtered through what looked to be a sheer set of once-white curtains, fluttering like a worn flag. Odd, honestly, because I distinctly remembered all of the curtains being the same thick green ones that were all carefully cinched in the middle. My brows furrowed. This was clearly a sign that somebody had been in the house, or *was* in the house. Why didn’t they answer me? Was it because I had been purposely quiet? I’d knocked louder the second time. And why would they just hang up some gross curtains? What did that accomplish? *Unless*… A laugh escaped me and I popped my forehead with my palm. Duh! It wasn’t a curtain. It was a sheet. I’d seen my dad hang them up while touching up the walls in our house so paint didn’t accidentally get on the windows. And the Hensley House was in bad enough condition that even a second grader could tell you it probably would need a new coat (or five) whenever somebody came back to fix the place up. I couldn’t guess why they wouldn’t have cleaned out the rancid fridge or dusted first, but sometimes the reasoning of adults went way beyond me. However, that also meant that somebody was probably actively there, and that person probably had heard me come into the kitchen. And maybe that person would like some help from some bored, well meaning kid who’d come in with the pure intention of letting them know their door was open. And maybe they’d let that good kid take a look around and tell them stories about who lived here before, so said kid could compare notes to figure out if they were *right*. I yelled into the house, louder and more confident. I explained they’d left their door open. I asked if they wanted me to close it for them. Or if they needed help. Step by step, I inched from the kitchen to what I assumed was a dining area. I hadn’t seen this part of the house from the outside since there were no windows, just a light fixture swinging in the breeze I’d let in. Cobwebs danced between links in a chain that was tangled with a yellowed electrical cord. I kept talking. I wasn’t even waiting to hear if there was a response, and to this day I don’t know if it was because I was caught up in the excitement of seeing something *nobody* had seen in decades, or if it was because my gut instinct told me that something was wrong. I blabbered and blabbered, and I’m sure that the longer I spoke, the more holes were apparent in my story. I’ve never been good at maintaining a lie, and I was even worse before my brain fully developed. The floor creaked beneath me with every step, a sound that echoed into the depths of the house as if it were as hollow as a cave. I skirted around the dining table, fingers running across tacky, dusty chairs. My heart skipped a beat as I stopped beside the bedroom door. Finally, my brain registered with certainty that something wasn’t right. Nobody was answering me, the darkness was beginning to feel constricting, and I consciously realized something that’d I’d been ignoring in my excitement. The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger the further I walked from it, rather than fainter. When I began to consciously focus on it, I was surprised it hadn’t repelled me sooner. It was less sour now, and more… *something else*. Putting words to it seems impossible in retrospect, and was even harder at an age where I was barely struggling through Accelerated Reader programs at school. I didn’t have the vocabulary, but I knew it sat in my nostrils and twisted my stomach and made my head throb. Somehow, I knew that I was walking towards something dead. I don’t know how I knew that, save primal instincts. My only encounter with death at age seven was second-hand gossip from Valerie about some of the neighbors and some pet fish I’d failed to feed properly. It wasn’t anything I’d really seen, let alone *smelled*, yet my mind filled in the gaps with images from horror movies I’d peeped through parted fingers. I called out another apology, and an excuse which was probably wildly different than the ones I’d used coming in. In response, the floor squeaked. Yet, I hadn’t moved. And the way the floorboards squealed beneath the carpet told a story about something moving that was much, much bigger than myself. As if my shoes had sunk in concrete, I stood there frozen, unable to will my legs to move or my body to turn. I forgot how to swallow or speak as I entertained thoughts of being the next missing kid on America’s Most Wanted. Thud. Squeak. Thud. I could see movement now, shadows dancing across the wall, far too blurry to make out. A wave of putrid air caught my nose again, and the jolt was enough to knock me out of whatever trance I’d fallen into. I clasped both hands over my face to block out the smell and scooted backwards towards the kitchen. Squeak. Thud. Squeak. My eyes couldn’t register what I was looking at at first. It was just a blob, obscured by the tears welling in my eyes from the scent of decay. When I blinked them away, it began to take a solid form: hunched and loose and knock-kneed in a dress that was tattered at the edges, backlit by the living room window. At first I thought it was a person and my first instinct was to apologize, but then, it moved. Rigid. Jerking. Its head slumped sideways and then snapped up so violently that what looked like an entire clump of hair flung free of its scalp and slapped against the wall. A new, noxious odor followed its movement and a few droplets of something black and rancid hit my hand. Bile rose up my throat and, for the first time in my life, I dropped the f-bomb. In true child fashion, my fear only intensified when it left my mouth; not only was I going to die, my mother would somehow magically know and be *so* mad at me, as if my current company wasn’t mad enough. It lurched forward and a ragged, wheezing sound escaped it. The floorboards squeaked as it stumbled and barely caught itself. I finally found it in me to run. Something sour rose up my throat as I let go of my face and was slapped with the full force of the smell, and it was only made worse by the way my stomach flip-flopped inside of me. I knew I couldn’t stop to look back, but I could paint a very vivid picture in my head based on the grotesque noises behind me. Squelching, stumbling, thudding and hissing as ancient, hole-filled lungs struggled to say words that would never come out. Clicking teeth, falling objects. Something broke in the kitchen as I felt cold, bony fingers claw at the back of my shirt and barely miss getting enough of a grip to pull me back. The kitchen tile seemed to expand infinitely, the door always moving further and further away, still tantalizingly cracked from when I came in. Lungs burning and stomach roiling, I launched myself at the back door like a pouncing cat and curled both hands around the edge. I pulled and I pulled, but it was as if some invisible force was holding it shut out of spite. I felt a rush of musty, bitter air on the back of my neck and screamed. The door flung open. So forcefully that I nearly fell back into the entity and barely managed to catch my footing as I threw myself out on the porch. The wicker lawn furniture and empty plant pots became obstacles as I stumbled and shrieked and threw cushions and watering cans and whatever else I could in the direction of the door. Stealing only the briefest glance to see if I was making any leeway, I saw it looming at the threshold, emaciated and flaking to nothing, eyes long gone and dried maggots caked to what was left of the flesh. Strings of loose hair fell messily around it, from patches of scalp that were mostly peeled away from the skull. It was the sort of image that sticks with you, one you carry with you in excruciating detail for the rest of your life. And so I have, just like I carried the memory of how bad it *hurt* when I realized I’d carried myself to the porch stairs and promptly fell down them. My nose cracked against the brick patio. I felt blood oozing down my face, but adrenaline numbed the pain enough that I could climb up to my feet and bolt around the edge of the house, past the abandoned cars and the garbage cans I failed to return. Something slapped the windows as I ran by, my legs pumping so hard that I could barely feel them, but I refused to look up. I didn’t know who or what was trying to get my attention but, given what I’d just seen, I could imagine. Instead, I just screamed. I screamed as I ran out onto the sidewalk. I screamed as I stumbled over the uneven pavement. I screamed until I saw Valerie on the sidewalk in front of one of her rental properties, waving at a car of hopeful tenants as they made their way out of Fugate Drive. It was obvious that I’d taken her by surprise; she never stopped waving even as her smile faltered and I collided with her legs like a runaway vehicle. She swayed and threatened to fall as I wrapped myself around her knees, blood smearing on her slacks and fingers digging into my own sleeves. Not a word passed her lips as I confessed three times in the span of thirty seconds to what I had done. I’d not listened to her, I’d been snooping around the Hensley House, something was in there and it was *going to get me*. The phrase “I’m so sorry” flung from the end of my tongue so many times that it ceased to have meaning, becoming more and more strained as tears and snot began to block my throat, making it harder for me to speak. To her credit, she listened. Hand still lifted in a wave, she looked down at me with puzzlement, then disappointment, then sympathy. The final time I glanced up at her, her face was twisted in indignant anger and her eyes were fixed on the Hensley House, deceptively still and silent behind a fragment of its fence. “Oh, Leslie,” she sighed, dropping her hand at long last. “I told you not to go snoopin’. Their girl ain’t cleaned that house out for a reason. *Nobody* gets in there anymore. Nobody *can*.” Slowly, she fell to her knees. Her arms wrapped around me in a hug, and I could feel the heaviness of her sigh as she rested her head on my shoulder. She was still facing the house and I could imagine she was still glaring. After a long, tense moment of tears, Valerie looped her arms around me to pick me up off the ground and lead me home. She didn’t flinch as I wrapped my snot-and-blood covered hand around hers and toddled behind her, legs so weak that I didn’t know whether or not I could keep up with her stride. My whole body shook and neither of us spoke as we ambled down the sidewalk to my front door, or at least we never spoke to each other. I muttered to myself that I was stupid and I was sorry and I wanted my mom, and Valerie mumbled under her breath when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. But, I was. At one point, I looked up at her and saw her expression was still stony and mad, her jaw stiff and her brows fixed like those of an angry mother. She never looked down at me, never even noticed I was looking at her, and I sniffled as I watched her suck in a breath between her teeth. “Fuckin’ Ruth Hensley,” she quietly grumbled. “Always hated her. What a bitch.”

She Always Wore A Hat.

xznhcw

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xznhcw/she_always_wore_a_hat/

We met on an online dating site. Finally, years of going through multiple apps and failed relationships seemed to have not been in vain. She messaged me first and complimented me on my looks. She loved my beard and my blue eyes. She wanted to go on dates and experience fun things. She was beautiful. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, a pretty smile. She even wore my favorite baseball teams hat. We met up at a local amusement park. She gave me a very brief hug and she was so gorgeous. She wore a red dress and a straw hat. Her red lip stick left a stain on my cheek. “Hi, I’m Abbey.” “Nice to meet you, I’m Andy.” We had so much fun. She seemed happy with little things. She loved eating ice cream, roller coasters, hot dogs. She acted as if it was the first time she ever experienced those things. We had multiple dates since then. We went to see some movies, go to restaurants, baseball games, she even went with me to a tattoo appointment. She wore a hat on every date. She told me she traveled a lot and wants to become a mom one day. She was told having a baby would be a big issue for her and she may not be able to have any. Eventually I asked her about the hat, I mean she had gorgeous hair. Her hair reminded me of a young Dolly Parton. We were at a baseball game. “I have a bald spot on my head, I’m just really embarrassed about it.” “It wouldn’t bother me if you were bald, I love you the way you are.” “You love me?” She had a big smile on her face. “I love you, Abbey,” She kissed me and it was magical moment full of bliss. We went back to her place. Her apartment was very dull, it didn’t match her personality. There were no pictures or posters on wall, no extra furniture besides a couch, only the couch and a small tv. She began kissing me and pushed me into her room and on the bed. She unbuttoned my pants and jerked them down. She turned off the lights and the room became pitch black. I couldn’t see anything . At one point I tried to pull her hat off and she tightly grabbed my wrist. “No.” It was the greatest moment of my life. She asked me to stay the night. She came out of the bathroom in some pajamas and a night cap on. I just stared at her with confusion. “It helps me sleep better.” I talked with my roommate about my curiosity and he told me I’ll just have to pull it off her head one day. I didn’t like the idea of that though. A few more weeks go by and she said she’d stay the night at my house. She met my roommate and they got along good. We all played Monopoly together until it was getting late. We got back to my room and she cuddled up next to me in bed. “I’ve never felt the way I do about you as I have anyone else.” I kissed her forehead and told her the same. I was in love. We fell asleep holding each other. I woke up around three a.m. and she was rolled over and snoring. I slowly pulled her nap cap off and prayed that she wouldn’t wake up. I felt really weird, she didn’t have a bald spot. I couldn’t figure out what she’d lie about that. I glanced at it a few and planned on going back to sleep. I’d tell her the truth when we would wake up later. Then I noticed it. A tiny silver zipper was poking through her blonde curls in the middle of the back of her head. A zipper line didn’t appear until I slowly began pulled it down. Her real skin appeared, it was black and reptilian like. I tried to open the door and creep out and I heard her voice. “Where are you going dear?” She stretched up arms then put her hand behind her back. “Oh no.” I took off running and she followed. She pointed her finger at me and I froze. I tried so hard to move but couldn’t. My roommate came out of his room. “What’s going on in here?” She turned around the front of her costume fell down. He let out of a scream. “Oh my God!” Her tongue shot across the room and went completely through his forehead, he dropped. She peeled off the rest of the costume and turned to me. Her eyes were neon green. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. But you love me and I love you. I also found out that we’re going to be parents.” My body was still frozen. She pointed at me again and I was able to move. I felt scared and didn’t know what to do. “You’re gonna be a daddy.” I felt speechless. “I can have a ship come pick us in a few minutes if you want to come with me. The choice is yours.” I looked down at the blood stained carpet where my roommate was laying, she looked back up at me with a nervous smile. I just wanted to wish you all the best and say a farewell. She said the ship was close.

I Used To Be An Abandoned House Explorer, I Saw Something That Made Me Regret It

xzuxdc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzuxdc/i_used_to_be_an_abandoned_house_explorer_i_saw/

Me and my friends used to explore abandoned or supposedly haunted houses in the city. We were all pretty into that type of stuff, we thought it'd be really cool to go through a run down or "ghost filled" house. This particular story was a little while back when I was about 16 and my friends Jake and Anne were both 15. We found out about an abandoned apartment building by one of our friends, once we did we got our things together and headed to it. ​ When we would explore places we usually took walkie talkies, flashlights, a crowbar, and a knife each just in case. Once I packed all my things I headed outside where Jake and Anne were waiting on their bikes, "Took ya' long enough Xan." Jake said. I went over and got on my bike, "Can it, you got the address?" I replied. "Yup, how about we get going?" Anne answered. We all started peddling down the street to head to the apartment. ​ "So what's the story behind the place?" I asked my friends as we rode our bikes. "The place was built in the 70s but kept getting lawsuits because it wasn't up to the right standards. Eventually it got shut down, the town hasn't had the chance to get rid of it." Anne told me. "Over a dozen people were injured from the shitty maintenance and two ended up dying." Jake reported. "Sounds like fun." I chuckled. It didn't take us long to reach the apartment and once we did we looked it up and down. ​ The apartment looked old and withered, having boarded up windows and a boarded up door preventing entry. The other windows looked smashed or dirty enough for you not to be able to see through them. "Jesus, I think this is the shittiest place we've seen yet." Jake chuckled as he handed me the crowbar he brought. "Let's get this over with, I don't like the vibe of this place." Anne advised. We went up to the door where I used the crowbar to pry off the boards, once they were off the door practically swung open. We all took our flashlights out and turned them on before heading into the decrepit apartment. "Well this isn't much better." I groaned. ​ On the inside of the apartment in the lobby were tossed over chairs, holes in both the floor and ceiling, and there was spray paint almost everywhere. "Not the most inviting environment." Anne commented. We spread out to look around the lobby with me going behind the main desk. I opened one of the drawers with a loud creak and found a family of cockroaches crawling around some keys, making me shiver. I closed the drawer and went back to meet back up with my friends. "Let's check out the floors." Jake pitched. ​ We found the stairs leading up and carefully went up them to the first floor. "Jake you check out this floor, we're gonna' head up to the others." I told Jake. "Sounds good to me, keep your walkies on." Jake replied. We continued heading up the stairs to the next floor, "You okay checking out the third floor on your own?" Anne asked me jokingly. "I think I can handle myself." I chuckled. Anne went into the second floor leaving me to head up to the final floor. I turned my flashlight on as the third floor was darker than the others, it looked like there weren't any windows to let in any light. "Creep city." I shuttered. ​ I started looking through the rooms, least the ones I could get into, to find anything worthwhile. As I was looking around and walking down the hall I saw something on the floor and shined my light on it. I was staring at a fresh trail of blood, leading down the hall and around the corner. I grabbed my walkie talking and pressed down the button, "Hey guys, I just found something really fucking freaky." I reported. "What is it?" Anne asked. "A trail of blood, what should I do?" I told them. "Follow it, maybe somebody needs help." Jake answered. "That doesn't exactly sound like a good idea." Anne advised. "Neither does coming to an abandoned apartment where two people died but we're here." Jake retorted. "I'm just gonna' follow it, keep your walkies handy." I told my two friends before putting away my walkie talkie. ​ I headed down the hall to follow the blood, the whole time my hair was standing up on my arms. The walls looked like they were about to fall apart with holes in them along with peeling wallpaper. I turned down the hall and saw something disgusting, on the floor in the blood trail were pieces of entrails. I was beginning to sweat and shake as I kept following the blood trail to the end of the hall. I turned into a room and saw the most horrifying sight. There looked to be a homeless man on top of a woman, he was shoveling the organs of the woman into his mouth using a knife. Pieces of organs fell from the man's mouth like he'd been starving and this woman was his first meal in ages. ​ My light alerted the man and he looked at me, I quickly took my knife out and swung it open. "Y-you stay the fuck back!" I shouted out with my voice shaking in fear. The man got up and then ran at me, I quickly ran off down the hallway to get away. I didn't get far before I slipped on the blood and fell face first onto the ground. Before I could get up the man chasing me got on top of me and bit down into my shoulder that was covered by a jacket that thankfully protected me, however it didn't protect my left side from being stabbed. I screamed out in pain and instinctively elbowed the man off of me. I turned around and slashed at the man's face to get him away, allowing me to get up and run down the hall. I grabbed my walkie and pressed down the button, "Guys we need to get out, now!" I shouted into the walkie. ​ Thankfully I reunited with my friends downstairs where we ran out of the apartment, pushing the door we came through closed. I doubled over on the ground as I held my heavily bleeding wound, "Come on, let's get him to my house. My dad can fix him up." Jake said. I managed to get on my bike and pedal away to Jake's house. Once we were there I got patched up, we then called the cops and I told them what happened. The police searched the building but only found the body of the woman. I don't know why the man was doing what he did, maybe from drugs or just desperation, but what I saw that night will forever stick with me and I will never explore abandoned buildings ever again.

Late Night Geometry (Part Two)

y00ldn

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y00ldn/late_night_geometry_part_two/

I honestly wasn't planning on making a second part, but after writing the [first](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xwt00x/it_wasnt_my_sister_and_i_swear_im_not_crazy/), things have started coming back to me. Like, my childhood was a lot less normal than I ever realized. It's almost funny; my friends and I loved to joke about how we were pretty sure I was cursed. Most animals hated me, like my stepbrother's dog, who would scream at me whenever I tried to pick him up. But crows flocked about me, even when I had no food, and even though I'm not one for superstitions, the family's back cat, Samwise, loved me. At least once I week I woke up to write in my dream journal, some vivid nightmare or bizarre subconscious adventure that would stick with me for life. I noticed things nobody else did, saw faces in the dark and heard words in the white noise. This story seems pretty mundane compared to the first, but it still feels notable. I was twelve at the time. ​ Our house had a small, partially unfinished basement with one main room and a hallway leading off to the storage room, which had a concrete floor and exposed "industrial" ceiling. It flickered and hummed constantly with the water heated and deep freeze and whatever else we couldn't be bothered to keep on the main floor. The walls were bordered with wire shelves stocked with jarred foods sent from my grandparents in North Dakota. I remember a few weeks my sister and I spent there out of every summer, where we helped Papa in his massive garden and Grandma bake pies and crumbles and tarts. ​ But the whole storage room is irrelevant to this story. The main room and stairs were covered with this ugly, faded yellow shag carpet that smelled vaguely of spilled milk and cat pee, no matter how many times my stepfather, Daniel, tried to shampoo it. He and his son, Liam, had an Xbox 360 down there that I only got to play on once every about 12 years since there was always somebody on it. Even my sister would sometimes steal it from the two boys. I, being the youngest in the family, never could. ​ One day in late December, when Liam was home with his mom for Christmas, I did finally get a turn. Danial had recently gotten Skyrim, which I liked, even though I didn't care much for the storyline or the Elder Scrolls as a whole. I just liked killing stuff because I was, like most children, bordering on psychopathic. ​ That night I played pretty late, until exactly 1:26, I remember, because my mom had told me to be in bed by 1:30. I stretched and got off the floor, turning off the TV and 360. The basement had one light switch and it controlled the bulb in the main room. ​ Just as my head touched the switch, I heard something. Something from the top of the stairs, just past their 90° turn barely feet from me. I froze and strained my ears, crouching to the ground so my shadow shrank towards me. ​ The sound. It repeated. Sort of like if you were to bounce a rubber ball off a hollow piece of wood. It repeated identically four times, each "bounce" the exact same, like the "wood" was being hit with the same force and angle, calculated. Or like a recording. ​ It happened five times in all before stopping entirely. There was no sound from above me, only the still silence of a sleeping household. I was spooked but not only that: it was well past 1:30, and if my mom knew I was still up, she'd probably ground me for the rest of Christmas Break. For me, this meant she'd take away my oh-so-precious writing notebook, which I had halfway filled with ragtag stories. The last time that'd happened was a few months earlier when I forgot to tell her I was with a friend and she thought "something" happened to me. She never did elaborate on that, but I'm beginning to think she meant something by her vagueness. ​ The noise had stopped, so I turned off the light and mad-dashed upwards, towards the door, as I always did late at night. The whole basement was cast into complete darkness, but I'd lived in that house most of my life, so it was no trouble for me to find the doorknob and fling the whole thing open and reach for the row of switches on the wall just across- ​ Where were they? Where had they gone? ​ Like I said, I knew this house like the back of my hand. You could blindfold me and stick earplugs in my ears and give me a minute and I could get anywhere in that time. I knew that there were exactly 17 stairs leading to the second story. Where were the lights? ​ It was so dark and I fumbled against the wall, running my hands across cool paint and finding nothing but the smooth, solid, vast expanse. In one direction was the faint amber glow from the sliding back door, shining with streetlight, the other impermeable and inky in the night. The living room had blackout curtains and two doors, the interior, solid wood one, and the outer, heavy storm door, courtesy of living in the midwest, so everything was suffocatingly dark. ​ Well screw it, I thought. If inanimate objects wanted to move around, so be it. I was going to bed. It wasn't ideal, and my skin was crawling at the thought (I've always been terrified of the dark), but I could find my way up the stairs, easy. Just as I made up my mind, I heard it again. ​ 1... 2... 3... 4... ​ Rubber ball on wood. What wood? The floor was carpeted, the sound impossibly close, no more than a few feet away. I froze, sickened, not daring to move. If it was so easy for me to hear, how well could it hear me? I drew my breath gentle as water through my teeth, one hand clenched over my mouth the muffle it. ​ Click click click. The kitchen was tiled, claws playing along it like needles, or knives. "Samwise?" I called out hesitantly, my voice small and weak. ​ Nothing. The darkness drank in my words and gave me nothing in return. Selfish. ​ I pivoted on my feet, turning from staring at the empty wall to the kitchen, warm charcoal gray with streetlamps. There was a thin layer of snow across the ground, turning the outside world way brighter than it should've been. It's the only reason I was able to see what I did, and I feel like that was a mistake. ​ Bright against the dim, it was... god, how do I even begin to describe it. It was a pillar, nearly grazing the 9-foot-tall ceilings, of swirling shapes, elongated diamonds and rhombi and polygons, trapezoids tumbling across irregular hexagons. Each time one fell, it clicked gently, tinnily, against the ground, bouncing off and rising up the column before spiraling down again. They spun and twinkled in the light, beautiful and unearthly and deeply unsettling. Somehow, I was not seeing their entirety, if that makes any sense. ​ They seemed to know I saw them, and they sang for me. Deep, whalesong notes rose from the shambling pile, a chant that stopped at me, hitting a wall and falling to the ground and sliding back towards the singularity. Entranced, I stared into the point of infinity, standing barefoot on the cold ground. ​ They were growing closer, as was I, stumbling as though attracted by gravity. And yet they pulled away from me, phasing through the wall so I had to throw open the back door and let in the cold winter air to follow. It seems dumb now, but I was utterly drunk on the sight, on the heady, ominous song, unlike anything I'd ever heard before, so I continued across the backyard. ​ The shapes rotated until the column was as thin as - thinner than - paper to pass through the fence before waxing and growing, sort of like charms on a bracelet. God, they were beautiful, colors than I could for the life of me name, shapes recognizable but unseeable, not letting my eyes focus no matter how I squinted. I would paint this scene if I knew where to start, the child following the Lovecraftian horror, but it seemed almost like the Greek story of Semele, who was vaporized the moment she set eyes upon Zeus. Divine, and not made for human sight. I'm still not sure what allowed me to see them that night. ​ The sidewalk must've been numbingly cold, and I was dressed only in pajama pants and a t-shirt, but I didn't seem to notice. My breath billowed and sparkled on contact with the air, but even the frigid weather almost added to the magic and intrigue of the moment. It was wonderful and even now I wish I'd followed the column further so I could see what they wanted to show me. ​ But I guess that wasn't meant to be. An arm threw itself around me as my mother picked me up, even as I struggled to go further. At the time, the look on her face didn't register, but it does now: absolute horror. She'd seen them too, I think, and didn't like them half as much as I. ​ She hauled me back to the still-open back door and set me inside, whispering frantically about how I was, under no circumstances, allowed to go outside without another person. And that if I saw the column again, she wanted me to come get her immediately. I nodded, more scared of her reaction than I was of the column themself, and was sent up to bed. ​ I was lucky to get nothing worse than a few blisters on my feet, no permanent damage or frostbite, but I can't help but wonder, even to this day: what if I had gone further? What let me see them? Are they still waiting for me? ​ But I guess it's all a part of my strange childhood.

A Mad Dog Likes Ice Cream.

xz6nnn

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xz6nnn/a_mad_dog_likes_ice_cream/

I grew up sheltered. I do regret the fact I didn’t go to parties, date or drink in school. I went off to college without that much life experience causing me to fall for the first guy that gave me any positive attention. Some showed their true colors very quickly when I refused to sleep with them after knowing them for a day or so. The man I fell for, and later married kept his real nature well hidden. I only found out what kind of person he was after our son turned three. Due to health issues when I became pregnant, I needed to put off finishing collage for a year or so. I found myself unable to pay for the remaining years and took any jobs I could manage with my medical issues still lingering. I earned enough to keep us afloat. My husband slowly starting to show who he was as the years passed by. I found us unable to pay bills on a regular basis and unsure of where the money went. I fooled myself thinking that staying for our son was the best idea, regardless of our problems. I asked a friend to follow my husband and he found out that our funds were going towards slots and horse betting. I confronted him about it and we got into a huge blow out. For six months I stayed, scared out of my mind over if we could feed our son or lose the roof over our heads. I never thought I would become one of those women who stayed with their abusive partner. While you're in that kind of situation everything feels impossible. I was more afraid to leave than if what my husband would do if I stayed. Then he threatened my son and everything became clear. Overnight I packed up a few bags and left. Just left. I couldn’t even stay at my parents or friends because he knew where they all lived. I didn’t want to risk their safety because of my deranged husband’s wrath. For a year and six months I made it work. I found a place to stay, I changed my first name and went by my maiden name. I did everything possible to ensure that man could never find us. After no signs of him for so long I became a little bit lax. I took my son out for ice-cream every Friday and I assume having a routine let him track us down. I don’t know how else he did so. You may call me a bad mother for what happened. I left my son who just turned five, alone in the apartment by himself. I felt safe knowing I’d only be gone for ten minutes at the most and he was asleep when I left. I just wanted to pick up some bread from the corner store for his lunch the next day. I came back and knew right away something was wrong. I knew I locked the front door but then I came back I found it unlocked. I flew inside, dropping my bags of food I went to the store to get. I rushed to our shared bedroom, dread growing in my stomach. The room was empty. I nearly fainted. I tore through the entire apartment looking for my boy. I pushed aside the couch and opened every cupboard in the kitchen, my mind in a blind panic. Somehow through that panicked state, I heard my cellphone ringing. I checked the number to see if maybe my neighbour saw my son try to leave the building and called me saying he was just at their place. I didn’t know the number and let the call go to voice mail. I didn’t even set the phone down when the same unknown number sent a text. A message a mother never wants to see from an unknown number. ‘I have your son.’ My sight growing grey around the edges giving me tunnel vision. My hands shook so much I couldn’t get my phone unlocked fast enough. The number called again and this time I picked up. “Troy, I swear to God if you-” I shot out, voice shaking with fear and anger. “Not Troy sweetie. Just someone he hired. I needed to get you but you weren’t in and this is better. Do you want to talk to your kiddo?” A deep voice came from the other end. I’ve never heard this person before and didn’t have a clue who he may be. I always thought my husband wanted us gone but didn’t think he would dare spend money that could be used for gambling on something like that. “Yes! Let me talk to him!” I hated how desperate I sounded. Noises came over the phone as it was handed over. It sounded as if they were in a car with the windows down. My heart sank. They could be anywhere and travelling further and further away. My son’s voice barely heard over the noise. “Hey mom.” My boy started but I cut him off. “Benny, did he hurt you?! Where are you, are you ok?!” I barely kept myself from shouting. My tone didn’t go over well with Benny. He was just a child and didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t even know being in a car with a stranger was a bad thing. “No, tis ok. He's a friend of dad.” Benny said in a small quavering voice. I never really told him about his father. I just said we needed to be away for a while. I just couldn’t think of a way to explain how I felt about Troy without scaring my child. I knew he missed his dad but I told him so many times not to go with strangers. This man had been hired by my ex and got coached on what to say to make Benny comfortable and think they really were friends and going to see his dad again. All of this was my fault. I left him alone and I didn’t say the right things to protect him. I wanted to cry but needed to stay strong to make sure he lived through this. “Can you tell me where you are? What car did you get into? What does he look like?” I pleaded hoping if he answered one of these questions it would help the police in finding him. The phone was taken away before Benny said anything else. The man came back and I heard my son sound upset in the background. The phone got muffled like if the man pressed it against himself as if he didn’t want me to hear him sounding almost comforting to the child in the car. He cleared his throat and brought the phone back up. “I have no reason to hurt him. I just need to you go to a certain location and time. After that, your son can go free. I’ll buy him dinner too. Is he allergic to anything?” The man asked. His deep voice not matching how friendly he tried to make the last statement. “As if I believe you! What do you really want?! Just, please we’ll do the trade now. Bring my little Benny back.” I begged pressing my phone so hard against my ear it hurt. The man didn’t answer for seconds that felt like hours. He rolled up the window so his voice came out clear. “Show up on time at the location I’ll send you. If you call the cops, you’ll never see your son again.” The man’s voice so cold it made my shoulders shake. I opened my mouth to speak but he hung up. A second after a text came through with a screen shot of local park on Google Maps. A part of the trail in the middle of the park was marked, and he provided some photos of the meeting spot. The trail a bit over grown and surrounded by trees. I should have called the police. I had the number the kidnapper called from. I didn’t record the phone call but they should believe me it took place. I did consider calling them. The meeting time was set for an hour from now and after it got dark. I didn’t think the cops would believe me so fast and put a plan in motion before the time was up. No, I needed to do the foolish thing and go alone. I called a friend and told her that my husband found where I took my son. I didn’t go into details but told her to call the cops if I didn’t send her a message in two hours. I debated on telling her to send the police to the park if she didn’t hear from me, but decided against it. I would send her a message with the images of the park right before I needed to meet the strange man that took my son. That gave me enough time to get Benny back and hopefully have her call the police for us. If the police arrived at the wrong time, I risked my son’s life. I kept looking at my phone while I drove expecting it to ring. My car wasn’t the greatest and it puttered along taking up a decent amount of time to arrive to the park. I got there ten minutes early and figured it didn’t matter. With the messages to my friend sent, I raced down the path trying to see in the dark and find the right spot. The trail empty and I didn’t see any cars in the parking lot besides an old grey one sitting at an angle. The uneven path nearly caused me to trip a few times and I cursed myself for wearing sandals instead of better shoes. I saw the meeting spot under one of the rare post lamps. Bugs already buzzed around the light. The sun only setting a few minutes ago but it looked like the dead of night. I saw two shapes and my heart raced harder than it ever had before. A man I didn’t recognize was sitting on his heels doing what looked like to be a magic trick with a coin. Benny unaware of how dangerous the situation really was, watched on in awe when the man tossed up the coin, caught it and opened his hand to show it was no longer there. I ran up, scooping Benny into my arms and took a few steps away from the kidnapper. I wanted to run but didn’t risk it in case someone else was watching us. I looked over my son, finding him perfectly find. Just a bit scared from my reaction. His face also a little sticky from soda. I noticed a takeout bag sitting by the lamp post to be tossed away. I fussed over Benny wanting to sob from missing him so much from the short time apart. The man stood up and the movement nearly caused me to bolt. He picked up a grey suit jacket off the ground and quickly put it back on. Grey hair matched his jacket along with his eyes. He looked a few years older than myself and a bit scruffy to be wearing a suit jacket and a dress shirt. “Did he hurt you at all sweetie? Did he...” I couldn’t bring myself to ask my son if a stranger touched him in a way that made him uncomfortable. I sort of had that talk with him but never did it properly. I regretted a great deal of my choices that led to that moment but never regretted having Benny. He was the only thing in my life I was proud of and I almost lost him. From the looks of things, Benny wasn’t hurt in any way while away from me. The man told the truth of just holding onto him for the hour and buying him dinner. I hated this man and I hated a monster like him acted this good with a kid. “I’m ok. Did I do something bad?” Benny asked in a small voice looking as if he might cry. “No honey. I was just scared; your father's friend didn’t tell me he was taking you.” I lied. That calmed him down. I took a step backwards keeping my eye on the man who stayed silent the entire time. He placed his hands in his pockets and when I pressed Benny’s face against my shoulder to calm him, the man flashed the handle of a gun. He quickly put it away when my son looked back. He didn’t want to deal with a loud, crying child so kept his threat silent but clear. The brief look of the gun caused my body to almost shut down. I wanted to get sick. My body shook from stress and I kept thinking about just making a run for it. I couldn’t risk Benny getting hurt. I needed to stay alert and escape when I had a better chance. I also had a small weapon in my purse. Just a stun gun but I needed to be closer to the man to use it and I didn’t want to put my son down either. “Why did you do all of this?” I asked the man, voice filled with anger. “I told you. Your husband hired me. He should be arriving any minute, so please let’s play the silent game until he gets here.” “Listen-” I started. He cut off my words by taking a single step closer. Hands still in his pocket, and an unsettling grin on his face. For a moment, I thought his teeth appeared too sharp and the light shone off his eyes in an odd way. I took a few steps back, legs uneven and shaking. My son started to get upset again and I needed to get him out of here. “Can I... At least let Benny leave?” I begged in a soft voice. He paused to consider my request. His face returning to normal, and he took a step away to keep us calm. Crossing his arms, he shook his head. “It’s a dark park and he’s like, ten.” The man answered. “Five.” I corrected. He let out a long sigh, and cracked his neck in frustration. “Aright, five. It’s not good for him to be walking alone at night. And where would he go? Do you have someone who can pick him up?” He offered; his deep voice almost friendly. I stood, stunned. I didn’t think the person who took my son would let him go like this. I nodded and made me get out my phone. He watched me type out a message to my friend asking her to come by and get Benny. When I sent the message, he warned me to keep my phone in my pocket and not try and call the cops. He said that he was only hired me to get me to the park and didn’t care what happened with my son. If my friend left her place right after the message was sent; it would take her thirty minutes to get here. he agreed to let Benny leaver after she arrived to get him and not make him walk around to get lost in the park. We had some time and my ex-husband hadn’t shown up even though it was a few minutes after the meeting time. The man started to pace as we waited. He found some rocks to kick into the grass when he got bored and I let Benny sit on my lap. I whispered to him how much I loved him and anything else that came to mind. He was confused and scared which was understandable. He just wanted to see his father again after so long. I wondered if I should have told him about his father or let him have the few years of still thinking the man was a decent person. Finally, my ex showed up from down the path. His blonde hair looking like it’s seen better days. Face covered in a beard and eyes sunken. He didn’t look like the man I married and Benny didn’t even know who he was. The kidnapper let out a growl and dramatically tapped at his wrist. “You’re late.” He hissed at my husband. “I was making some deals. I can give you a little bit extra for staying. Are they both here?” Troy’s voice sounded rough as if he just woke up. I suspected Troy got into something heavier than some drinks and ruined his body since I left. I stood up, son in my arms again trying to think of a way out of this mess. What did he want? I didn’t have any money or life insurance. Our deaths wouldn’t benefit anyone. In fact, I told my best friend if I disappeared to tell the cops Troy had something to do with it. If he killed me, all signs pointed to him. “It’s the principle of the matter. But you're here now. Do you want me to kill her?” The grey-haired man said as if he was asking a mundane question. My legs failed me. I sank to my knees, Benny being strong but tears came to his eyes. I should have risked running sooner and now I wouldn’t be around to see my son grow up. “No, no. I have some guys who want to pay for her. You can like, hit her head, right? Like do something to make it so she doesn’t know what's going on but keep her alive? Wait, what do people do with an ice pick up the nose?” Troy offered, hands shaking but from withdrawals and not from what he was saying. “Like a lobotomy? I don’t carry and ice pick around but I can figure something out. You’re the one paying for this, her dead or not.” With a shrug, the hired killer turned and started to walk towards us. I made an attempt to stand only to have my legs give out again. This couldn’t be happening. I refused to let either of them follow through with their plan. I reached into my purse and found the stun gun. I held onto it tightly, waiting for the man to get closer. I wanted to shock him and run like hell thinking it would be my only chance. “Oh, and the boy too. I’ll get more for him.” With a few steps between us, the man stopped at those words. A dark expression came over his face for only a second. I thought I imagined thing it. He forced a smile on his face and brightly looked over his shoulder at my husband, his tone a false cheer. “I told you it’s double for kids.” He nearly sang causing my skin to crawl. “I’ll pay it. Just grab them or do whatever you need to do here fast so we can go.” I wanted to scream. Like fucking hell this man was going to touch my son. I already failed him once by leaving Benny alone and I wasn't going to do it again. I gritted my teeth together, waiting for the right moment. Just before he reached us, I set Benny down and screamed at him to run. My hand holding the stun gun flew out of my purse and I jammed it into the man’s side. I flicked it on and heard the current run but nothing happened. He didn’t flinch or react in any way. I smelled the burned fabric of his shirt and he still didn’t do anything. To my horror, I saw Benny just standing with wet eyes unable to move. A hand as tight as a steel vice came down on my own and took the stun gun from me. He wrapped one arm around my neck to press my back against his chest and I screamed hoping someone would hear. Nothing worked. This man far too strong for me to get away. “Please! I’ll pay you more than what he’s offering! My purse, all my cards are in there! You can take anything out of my purse and, and-” I choked on tears trying to think of anything else I had to offer to save my son’s life. “My body! You can do whatever you want with it! I’ll sell it too if I have to save Benny, just don’t hurt-” My body was tossed to the ground and the man held onto my purse strap. Benny came running over, sobbing seeing his mother mistreated in such a way. With my heart racing, I looked up to see the kidnapper actually looking through my purse. He paused at some lip-gloss as if he was considering taking it. “What the fuck are you doing?! Just grab them!” Troy yelled, his rage boiling over. The stranger put the lip-gloss back and found my wallet. He pulled out a small purple card stock square and a smile with sharp teeth came to his face. The wallet was returned and the entire purse tossed at my feet. He held out the card showing it was a stamp rewards card for a local ice-cream place. All the stamps been filled out for a free waffle cone with two scoops. “I’ll take this as payment, if you don’t mind. It was inside your purse so it counts.” He said and I didn’t believe his words. He tucked the card away and turned towards Troy. His hands tucked inside his suit pockets and hunched over but he still looked like a force of nature walking towards my Ex with purpose. Troy screamed at him to finish the job and the man didn’t turn back on us. His anger taking over and Troy pulled out a hand gun from his pocket. I screamed and curled around Benny in case one of the bullets reached us. Each shot rang out through the empty park sounding much louder than I expected from a small gun. Raising my head, I saw a horrible sight. A bullet tore through the grey-haired man’s ear. Blood splattered on the ground and Benny went into a sobbing fit. Instead of crying out in pain, the man started to laugh. He doubled over like he couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. In a blink of an eye, he went from laughing a few steps away from Troy to knocking him to the ground. His scuffed dress shoe on Troy's chest, pinning him down. I didn’t even see this man move. Troy's hands flew to the man's leg trying to move it as he shouted and cursed. All his attempts to get free failed. “Ten grand! I'm paying you ten grand! She can’t give you that! Don’t they call you a Mad Dog?! A kid shouldn’t matter!” Troy screamed as if he hadn’t just shot the man now standing on his chest. “That money is what you think you’re going to win off of a bet tomorrow. You currently do not have the payment, and this lovely woman over there paid me in advance. Unlike you, she did not promise what she does not have. So, I’m taking a job from her. After all, I haven’t gotten a cent from you, and I do believe you were just going to kill me instead of actually ever handing over any money.” That sounded like Troy. I honestly never expected him to find me because that would require him to pay a private investigator or to spend a good chunk of his own time tracking us down. I wasn’t worth anything to that man until he found out he could sell his ex-wife and son to God knows who. Troy started to sputter out excuses, but the man pushed his foot down harder to cause him to start wheezing. He leaned over, his chest pressed against his knee to watch Troy’s suffering face closer. When he turned his head to let our eyes meet, my body turned to ice. A pin prick of white light came from his pupils and somehow, his ear wound started to close. This man wasn’t human and I didn’t have any clue what he really was. “I don’t get paid to hurt people. I only kill them. But someone has to tell me to do it. So, little lady, you have already paid. Do you want me to go through with the job?” His smile got wider and teeth sharper. His face appearing more of a beast than a man’s. I looked from the monster and the man I married. I realized then they were both monsters in their own way. I nodded my head and that was enough. The deal silently made. I didn’t want my child to see what was going to happen. I stood up, ready to make a run for it and leave these two behind. Off in the woods I saw more lights from eyes. Countless of them appeared in the dark. Out from a bush came a shape that made me gasp. A rotten bear with shining white eyes took one step into the clearing. The fur sagging off the thin frame and half the skull exposed. Such a creature should not be able to move around. I questioned my sanity in that moment. I turned to leave but saw the man move his leg. He kicked Troy hard enough for me to hear ribs break and see his body fly a few feet towards the dead bear. “A fun fact about bears is they just start eating you. You’ll be lucky if you bleed out quickly from the attack!” I heard the man shout with another wheezing laugh. My legs finally working and I ran for our lives. I met my friend at the start of the park, her face with clear worry. I forced her inside her car and told her to drive. I could pick up my car later. I refused to tell her what happened besides my husband found us but won’t be an issue any longer. She thought I killed him but was a saint. She let us stay at her place for the night. My poor Benny crying late into the night. I hoped this happened to him young enough the memories of the night faded in time. I called out of work for the first time the next day. I expect the police to come knocking at our door but nothing happened. I hated leaving Benny with my friend so soon after everything that happened, but I needed to make sure of something. I told her I just wanted to pick up my car. I got on a bus to head to the park, only staying long enough to grab my car. But I drove down to the pier and found a spot to park. I looked around trying to find a certain person knowing my stamp card expired tomorrow so he had to be here today. By some miracle, I spotted the man with the grey suit jacket leaning against the wooden railing and looking out into the water. The grey clouds of the day matching his hair. He had a waffle cone in his hand and a brown paper bag in the other. The cone almost finished with a few drips of bright blue ice cream on the side. I walked up to him but stopped behind unsure of what to say. He somehow sensed I arrived. Turning, he tossed the bag at me which I thankfully caught. “Your stun gun is in there. Oh, and about sixty grand in cash your husband won from his horse race today. I picked it up for you.” He said in a calm voice and a shrug. “What?”!” I choked on my words, holding the heavy bag. I pressed it against my chest, feeling what must be a stack of bills inside. I shook my head not believing he would simply hand this much money over. “Why wouldn’t you keep this? I never would have known about it.” I questioned and noticed people looking at us. I stepped closer to keep our conversation between ourselves. What kind of person would hand over a life changing amount of money and kill a man for an ice-cream cone? Not a person I told myself. He wasn’t human. Some sort of monster I never wanted to see again. I just wanted to know if Troy was dead or not. “I don’t need it. And a dead man doesn’t either. And I think you earned this after being married to someone like that. Either way, I did my job. You still owe me a little bit though.” He said and finished off his cone with one big bite. I let him chew and wondered what he was talking about. If he didn’t want money then what? I thought back trying to remember what I’d offered in such a state of panic. My words coming back and my stomach fell to the ground. “You want me to...?” I asked mouth dry and the words dying in my throat. “You offered. You said I could do whatever I wanted with your body. We can get this done right here.” He said, and his face turned into a smirk I wanted to slap. “Here? Are you crazy?” I hissed. I did offer my body but that didn’t mean I wanted to get arrested for public indecency. He raised one hand and with his index finger, tapped his right cheek until I got the hint. My face turned red and I held the bag closer, threatening to rip it. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. I got closer and kissed his cheek, face still red and anger simmering in my stomach. This bastard just wanted to tease me. “Is that all you wanted me to do?” I asked clearly seething. He got closer, his lips neck to my ear causing my body to tense up. His hand went to the bottom of my back and only touched the space with his finger tips. I smelled cigarette smoke on him covering up an Earthy, almost sweet smell. “Did you want me to ask for more?” He offered in a low voice I jerked away, hating him as much as I hated the reaction my body had to his words. This man wasn’t human and I know killed my Ex and yet I shook from mixed signals. My face red and teeth clenched together I shook my head unable to speak. He laughed a harsh wheezing chuckle and I knew why he left it at just a kiss on the cheek. That soft moment and the suggestion afterwards made me question myself. For the rest of my life, I would curse what I felt for a half a second wonder if he pushed hard enough, I might go along with what he asked. Unable to help myself, I punched his arm. That caused him to laugh harder. “Let’s hope we never meet again. You need better taste in men.” The man mocked and started to walk away. “I really do.” I admitted. I let the stranger leave, glad to not get his real name or know anything else about him. As the months passed by, I waited for the police to show up and they never did. No one came questioning me about Troy going missing and no body was ever found. If it wasn’t for the cash, I hid away I would have thought the whole thing didn’t happen. Benny blocked out the night but he started to have nightmares for a few months afterwards. That man we came across, whatever he was, just wanted to amuse himself. He didn’t care about my life or Benny. He just kept me alive to tease me afterwards. Simple as that. Or he turned on Troy because insulted him. Either way, I was thankful his odd personality let us live through the night. I hated Troy. I really did. But if I had the option going back and never marrying him knowing how it would turn out, I still wanted to go through with it. I have my son who I love more than anything. The past five years of bad memories are well worth having him around every day.

I Was a Bad Neighbor [Final]

xznvil

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xznvil/i_was_a_bad_neighbor_final/

[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/w6jeo6/i_was_a_bad_neighbor/) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/wd20yd/i_was_a_bad_neighbor_part_2/) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/wmx58y/i_was_a_bad_neighbor_part_3/) [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/wykqgk/i_was_a_bad_neighbor_part_4/) My lawyer has advised me against continuing to post. My sister, Jenny, has asked me to please stop. I apologize to both of them for acting against their wishes. Everything I am about to tell you is the honest truth. I would testify to it in court. As a matter of fact, I intend to. After my last update, there was nothing to report. I was staying with Jenny and just eating the cost of the commute for work. Within a couple weeks, I had a new apartment lined up, and Jenny offered to help me move the rest of the furniture to save on money for a moving service. Plus, I don't think she wanted me to be left alone for too long. Even now in my new place, she calls me almost every day. We're closer than we've been since we were kids, but it's fucked that it took something like this to… So the furniture. We borrowed her husband's pickup and were just taking my stuff down. I didn't ever have a lot, a table and a desk, a couple chairs, nightstands, my bed, and the couch. Consummate bachelor shit. Not even any wall art. I noticed that as we were taking stuff out. Spending so much time with Jenny's family, it was suddenly weird to me that I had left my walls totally bare for as long as I'd lived here and it never bothered me. Which made me think about Eloise's art, and I had this crazy urge to own one of her paintings, like a consolation prize for all she'd put me through. We were carrying the couch through the kitchen, and ended up knocking it into a wall while I was distracted. I heard a thump. Jenny and I set the couch down so we could check our pockets, thinking someone had dropped a phone. Neither of us saw anything until we'd gotten the couch out into the hallway. There was something flat and square on the ground, blue and a little bigger than a credit card. I thought it was some bit of junk mail or a gift card or something that had fallen off the fridge or out from beneath the couch cushions, but when I picked it up, it was slim, cool plastic, and on the down-facing side, there was a little speaker. The upwards facing side was sticky, and sure enough when we tipped the couch over there was a strip of duct tape dangling. We found the second one under my bed, taped to my mattress. By this point I was hysterical, tearing up the apartment for anything else unseemly. I hadn't told Jenny all the details of my life for the last several months and she assumed this sudden move, the hospitalization, my erratic behavior, were symptoms of a mental health crisis. Now she was seeing in sudden, confusing detail that the mental health crisis was a symptom of *this*. How had I missed it this whole time? I don't know how I could have been so stupid, because when Eloise's voice came out of the speaker, it was obvious. Tinny, an inadequate recording playing out of an ill equipped speaker. It was one of those optical illusions where once you see the intended shape you can't make your eyes unfocus enough to find the old one. I wanted it to be her. Even if it meant she hated me. It wasn't that I was fooled. I wanted to be fooled. We did a thorough sweep of my apartment and found cameras. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, one aimed at my front door. An entire spying operation dedicated to me. I crushed them, snapped the speaker things. Jenny was sitting really quietly on my kitchen floor, just watching and trying to process all of it. She asked me what was going on. I mean, she'd been asking me, but I wasn't ready to speak until I had gotten rid of as much of the stuff as possible. I thought the best way to explain it was to show her the Reddit stuff, and she almost thought I was fucking with her. Yeah, I shouldn't have busted up all the evidence. I never said it was a good idea, but it was an absolutely necessary one. Could you live with something like that in your house, still recording, for even a minute longer than it took to eliminate them? I don't want evil things in my life. And in front of my fucking sister no less, who is innocent in all of this regardless of what I've done or what this fucking sicko that had invented Eloise thinks of me. Because it was clear now. Eloise was a fiction. A pretext to stalk and terrify me, to remind me of one of the worst things that has ever happened to me and use it as a weapon to hurt me. I'm not going to apologize or feel callous for making this about myself anymore, because Eloise is dead and she's not listening, and I'm still here living with the consequences. I brushed it off like it was no big deal? Well, it was. I lied. I'm telling the truth now. The day Eloise killed herself was the second worst day of my life. This was the first. I told Jenny to stay there and I ran to Nicole's. I pounded on her door for a good couple minutes, and I felt bad waking her because at that time she'd normally be asleep for her night job. This couldn't wait. I was already running it through my head, what I would have to tell her about the Reddit thread and my stalker to catch her up to speed. She lived in Eloise's old place for god's sake, so how could this person pass up involving her? She eventually opened the door a couple inches. She peered through it, heavy bags under her doe eyes. "What's…?" "Nicole, I need to talk to you. Please, this is seriously urgent." "Oh. Um, about Eloise?" I pushed my way inside, scared someone would overhear us. For all I knew, her apartment had been tapped. We would have to de-bug the whole thing, do a clean search, with profuse apologies from me for roping her into this. I don't think she was expecting me to be so forceful, but she scrambled out of the way. "Yeah," I said. "About Eloise." I'd never been inside her place before, but it was really dark. Obviously, I mean, she was semi-nocturnal, she'd probably barely had a chance to put the lights on. But it unnerved me. The only light came from her multi monitored computer setup in the bedroom, visible through the doorway; and the outdoors through her drawn curtains. "I don't know what to think. I was just with my sister. It's too much." She wandered or maybe ran to the balcony, and I followed her. I couldn't make out the look on her face in the dark. I don't think she was even really listening to me. Shutting the door, I glanced around again for some spy or assailant. I was utterly tunnel visioned. Nicole had pressed herself into a corner, her back to the balcony railing. "I just found all these cameras and shit. It all makes sense now. Her Facebook page, her accounts, the shadow, everything, I mean someone must have--" It was a hot summer afternoon, but between one breath and the next the air turned sharp and freezing in my chest. "Someone must have…" Nicole the psychic moved into my dead neighbor's haunted apartment. Except there never was a haunting. Which means she was never a psychic. God, I was so stupid. "Nicole…?" She blinked at me. "Neighbor?" I reeled. From the very moment I started talking about Eloise, she'd been there with me. Neighbor, neighbor, neighbor, not in Eloise's wholesome next-door voice but the anonymous chatter of the mob. I could finally put a face to it all. My voice thickened, burdened with choked back tears. I asked her, "How could you do this to me? Why did you do this?" And do you know what she did? She shrugged. Like a little kid when you ask why they didn't do their homework. Perfect innocence. Obvious guilt. I thought I was going to throw up, my heart was beating so fast. "Don't fucking *shrug*, Nicole, you poisoned me!" "Oh come on, like you actually have a meat allergy? A little pork blood wasn't actually going to hurt you. You just had a panic attack." "I went to the hospital." "Yeah, because you panicked and shot adrenaline into your leg." Oh my god, I realized then. I'm talking to someone who tried to kill me, and this is her only response. Nicole looked just as honest with me now as ever. Big open eyes, and nothing more off to her voice than a condescending tone. It was surreal. I think she really believed it. I tried asking again: why did this happen? She wouldn't give me a straight answer. I was in her space, with half a foot over her, and she didn't so much as flinch. Her hand went to her pocket. Did she have a knife, or a taser? The steady drip of adrenaline left me shaking. If I had to, I knew I could stop her, but there's a difference between telling yourself something and putting your body into motion. "What do you want?" I begged. "What were you trying to accomplish? What did you think this would do?" She rolled her eyes. "I thought that was pretty obvious." Yes, right. Killing myself. "But *why*?" "Because you deserve it." The internet is not real life. The internet is a brick wall. You press your ear to it to hear voices on the other side. Maybe you whisper along. Across the courtyard, I saw Jenny in my apartment, frantically on the phone with someone, but I couldn't tell what she was saying. I'm no good at reading lips. She looked up and saw me crying. She ran out. Nicole kept talking. "You know, it's not really hard to pick a lock. It's not hard to print off bills. She had a bunch still in the trash when she died. Even the expensive stuff, getting ahold of the cameras and setting up the hotspot to keep them streaming, that can all go on credit cards. You can open a new line of credit basically anywhere, anytime. You don't even have to use your real name. Lots of people do it; you've got stuff in your name, I bet, you wouldn't even believe. "But you know what the hard part was, really?" She kind of laughed. "Catching all those fucking pigeons." If I ran out of there, back through that dark apartment, would she follow me? Nicole was feverish, pink, and ready to take matters into her own hands. If I'd pushed her to this point where she was confronting me face to face, what could I make her do? I was thinking all of that, but I still said, "You are a fucking sociopath." Her nostrils flared. "Oh, I'm the sociopath? When you watched her die and did nothing, and then pretended… It's offensive, honestly, to think you could have stopped her." "I never said that," I insisted. You guys know I've never pretended to be some hero, right? I've never acted like I could have changed things, and wishing I had isn't the same thing. "You don't have to say it. I know you believe it." I didn't, I don't, but there was no reasoning with her. "She was just nice. Why can't I just care about someone who was nice to me? I mean, as though I don't understand how it feels to be lonely." Nicole crowded up into my space, and I had to put my hands out to block her. The first time I ever touched her. I thought she was going to jump up and maul me. Her teeth were out in such an ugly snarl it barely looked human. "See, this is why. You're so arrogant, you're obviously not the only one who's seen her stuff. Because *I* have. I found it before you, and I showed it to you. All you can ever have is a voyeuristic, secondhand Eloise, but I've *been* her. I've been in her skin in ways you could never understand." I was at a loss for words. I was deep in the swamp of panic and it was sucking me down fast. I didn't know how to interrupt her. Even if I did, what could I say to defend myself that hadn't already been said? Nicole kept going, more vicious the longer I failed to respond. "You're a fucking monster. You think you're in love with her? You think she would have gone for some manipulative, soft little creep? You couldn't even save yourself, but you have the gall to think you could have saved Eloise? The best thing for either of you now is to kill yourself." I shook my head. I tried backing off, up against the glass of the balcony. From behind, loud enough we could both hear, someone was pounding on her door. And she got this wild look on her face, electric. The way I imagine racers look when they're about to take a curve too fast to pull out of. "It's too bad she isn't really here to see you now. She'd be proud of me for avenging her." That's when Nicole jumped. She snapped her neck in the courtyard. When I got up the guts to look down, she had landed in the same flowerbed that Eloise's falling body had crushed in May. I can't tell you what must have been going through her mind, and speculation is not admissible in court, as my attorney keeps reminding me. But this is not a courtroom. This was how she decided to punish me. Nicole- and that wasn't her real name, of course- was fucked up. Like Eloise, she was underwater on credit, falling behind on rent. She decided her best course of action was to take that out on someone like me, who had done something she thought was wrong. She dedicated months of time, moved across the state, stole identities and committed god knows how much fraud, just to ruin my life. She ruined her own life out of pure spite. That's not the work of a rational mind. So when it looked like I might get away unscathed after all that effort, she thought, like I have thought: can he live with a second dead girl on his conscience? I can. And I will. Some of this may not seem to add up, but sometimes the truth is inconvenient. My court date is a few months from now. I've moved to a different part of town. I have heard no voices and seen no shadows. God willing, a jury of my peers will determine my innocence. Nicole jumped. Goodbye, Eloise. I wish we could have been friends. \- Neighbor

It All Started with a Splitting Headache

xzicx7

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzicx7/it_all_started_with_a_splitting_headache/

It all started with a splitting headache. One that nearly brought me down to my knees. The pain was so sudden and so sharp I thought I immediately got nauseous. My vision darkened and my whole body felt like a building had fallen on top of me. Worst of all was the light; a dim light started shining right in front of me. Slowly but persistently expanding over my field of vision. Shifting and twisting it into a rather serene forest scenery. I was sure I was about to die. At that moment, I was convinced I was having a stroke or some other brain death-like experience. Stumbling as I dragged myself to the phone. Never got to that phone. I ended up tripping over my own legs and falling. Strangely enough, as soon as the room flipped upside down around me, the pain subsided as suddenly as it first appeared. I remained for a few moments, lying down, trying to steady my breath as everything seemed to return to normalcy. This was the first of many such headaches. It all started with a splitting headache, not mine actually. My sister’s, to be honest. Addie never suffered from migraines, but after a few bouts of crippling headaches, she ended up getting her brain checked. It turned out to be worse than anyone could expect. She had a brain tumor. A terminal one too. It was too deep to operate on and Addie refused to take any meds that might just prolong her suffering. In short, she accepted her fate. It took aback me when she told me about the diagnosis. Rather cheerfully saying she’s got only a few months left to live. I’m lying. In reality, the news left me devastated; I was so overcome by disbelief and worry that I couldn’t sleep for the first few days after she had told me. Addie was the last family I had in this world I cared about. Mom was gone years ago, Dad offed himself not too long ago too. I wanted to just disappear from this world for a moment, fall asleep for a while, and wake up when this nightmare was finally over. I didn’t get the pleasure to do that, Addie decided we had to spend as much of the little time we had together as possible. And that’s how it was for the next four months. We’d spend all of our free time together. I was forced to watch as the tumor slowly ate away at my sister’s ability to live freely and took away, bit by bit, pieces of her personality. She wasn’t entirely lost by any means. Nothing close to a demented individual, but there were moments where the metastasized malignant growth must’ve pressed on some regions that made her go on unintelligible rants about nonsensical verbal diarrheas. It didn’t hurt as much knowing she was going to die as much as it hurt to watch her wither away. The slow process in which one becomes utterly unrecognizable to their loved ones hurts the most. From the liveliest woman in the world, she turned to a slow and lethargic shadow of her former self. Sometimes getting lost in mid-sentence. Other times, she’d just start sobbing as the pain became utterly unbearable. And I could do nothing to stop it. The painkillers were practically useless. All I could do was watch. All of it ended as suddenly as it started, unexpected, completely unexpected. I came by to check out how she was doing. She had given me the spare key. Allowing me to enter any time I wanted to. Just in case she couldn’t answer the door or something happened. That day, the moment I entered her apartment, something felt completely off. Certain darkness hung in the air, sucking out the oxygen from this place. I called out to her, but she didn’t answer. Looking around the house, I found her in the apartment, as peaceful as a sleeping infant. My brain went into a different gear the moment I saw her that day. A different person took control of my body at that moment, a person I hoped I’d never have to meet again. Let’s just say I am used to seeing blood… but I guess I handle it better. Seeing Addie lying on her red-stained bed, a gun between her hands and brain and skull matter sprayed all over the bed and wall. An eerie sort of calm washed over me as I called the authorities and notified them of my sister’s suicide. It’s not to say that I didn’t care. It’s just second nature. One I’d like to get rid of. Unfortunately, I can’t. The police suspected me because of the coldness in my voice and overall attitude. I don’t blame them. They questioned me, but they couldn’t dig up anything about me. So that was that. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone still suspects me to this day; even though I’ve explained to them, she was dying from a brain tumor. Can I blame anyone, though, for potentially not believing me? After all, you don’t get to see normal people not breaking down at the sight of their dead siblings. But break down I did; this was just the very telling calm before the storm. And what a storm it was. As soon as the cops and the medics left, I felt the stinging tears build up in my eyes as I collapsed and cried every ounce of tears I had in me. I wouldn’t stop crying for the next few hours. Hell, I was a mess for weeks after the fact. I couldn’t do anything without breaking down and crying like a little kid. That one stung the most. I was in hell for a while. The days went by with me, trying my best not to collapse under the gloomy monotony of sorrow. At the same time, the nights passed sleeplessly as I regurgitated memories of us together over the years. In these moments, I found a bit of solace; having a mental image of her radiant smile, her shining blue eyes that could make the oceans envious of their clarity, and her voice. I went through the whole five-round deal with my grief. Denial, especially since she had hated guns. I made up an entire conspiracy in my mind that this wasn’t her, that she wasn’t gone, that I had followed in our father’s footsteps and gone insane. Anger; mostly at myself for letting her die in my head. Bargaining, once again with myself; telling myself I should’ve made her take the medications she was being offered. I also prayed to God to have my life replaced by hers. I know it isn’t really feasible and outright selfish, making her live the kind of life I had a hard time accepting for myself. But in these moments of despair, I wasn’t thinking rationally. The depressive period that came after, I don’t really remember it that much. It was just a cloud of sheer mental and physical nothingness. Eventually, I came to accept that she was gone. Life went on, and there isn’t a single day I don’t miss her, but life went on, and I moved on with it. Adrianna, I love you, and I know you are watching over me over there. I know you already can tell that life resumed its normalcy. I even almost fell in love, almost. Sadly, that didn’t pan out. The days rolled on, and I stopped counting how long it has been since she was gone. I was back to enjoying my job, enjoying the company of friends, and enjoying life. I even found a news article about some local nut job that robbed the local cemetery. Found that funny at the time, not thinking about the possibility that my sister’s body could’ve been among his loot. It just didn’t register in my head. And then everything started with a splitting headache. One that nearly brought me down to my knees. The pain was so sudden and so sharp I thought I immediately got nauseous. My vision darkened and my whole body felt like a building had fallen on top of me. Worst of all was the light; a dim light had shone right in front of me. Slowly but persistently expanding over my field of vision. Shifting and twisting it into a rather serene forest scenery. I was sure I was about to die. At that moment, I was convinced I was having a stroke or some other brain death-like experience. Stumbling and dragging myself to the phone. Never got to that phone. I ended up tripping over my own legs and falling. Strangely enough, as soon as the room flipped upside down around me, the pain subsided as suddenly as it first appeared. I remained for a few moments, lying down, trying to steady my breath as everything seemed to return to normalcy. This was the first of many such headaches. They would come and go, lasting no longer than a few moments, but each time, they’d be unbelievably torturous and bring about increasingly intricate visions of a forested scenery getting bigger and bigger with each episode. While the insides of my skull were being fried, my soul was traveling through this beautiful heavenly locale. The mental hellfire was so severe it started affecting my day-to-day life, from bouts of explosive migraines at work to just completely draining me of my energy and disturbing my already fragile sleep cycle, which sent me further down into the rabid hole. Soon enough, I was once more consumed by grief and longing for my dead relatives. Often feeling their presence around me. I would catch glimpses of them sort of meandering about the house or hear a whisper of their voices, only to find out I was alone. Instead of getting fearful for my fleeting sanity, I’d get upset and mournful all over again. The headaches and visions consumed me during the day and the night. Everything in my head was being geared toward this forest, but each time, the pain was becoming far worse. My days were slowly but surely becoming a singular cacophonous delirious headache. During the night, I’d frequently dream about that same forest, albeit in greater detail. It was almost becoming familiar. The trees, the grass, the rock formations here and there, the distant rushing of water. All of it was growing more and more familiar, as if I had known this place. Some days, though, the pleasant dreamscape would become a terrible nightmare. It was completely the same serene forested landscape, but with the gut-wrenching addition of my sister’s likeness appearing in the distance and guesting me to follow her somewhere. Whenever I saw her in my dreams, I’d wake up with nauseating vertigo, accompanied by the sensation of a crack forming in my skull. These nightmarish dreams would become frequent and soon enough, I could hear her voice in my head. Every time I heard it. I felt chills running down my body. And every time she asked me to follow her, I did. Yet, every time she’d disappear somewhere before I could reach her. Dreams bled into reality and I could see her likeness standing behind my reflection in the mirror, albeit briefly. I could hear her voice calling out to me from beyond the nothingness of death. I’d catch glimpses of her everywhere I went. It’s like she was haunting me. A ghost of a memory turning into a waking nightmare. One night, I had finally reached my dream’s nightmarish conclusion. It began as it always did. I found myself walking about in this beautiful woodland. The sun was shining pleasantly on my skin. I walked around purposefully, lost until Addie’s silhouette appeared in between the trees. My body moved towards her. Like a game of tag, she ran while I followed, trying to catch on. My voice was muffled and distant as I called out to her to stop and wait for me. She didn’t say a thing, merely looked back at me every now and again. We ran for long minutes across the forest until I finally saw what I thought was a clearing. It was at the edge of the woodland. The familiarity of the environment struck me immediately. I didn’t even need to the sign indicating the distance to our town to know that this was the woodland not far from where I live. Addie ran into this old cabin by the edge of the woods while I could not stop her. The moment she ran inside, the pleasant atmosphere of the dream seemed to turn on its head. Trees turned black as the skies became blood red. The surrounding scenery turned into a perverted version of itself. Violent flames burst within the cabin as I watched it hopelessly. A cacophony of anguished screams woke me up. The darkness in the room seemed unnaturally dark and cold. My body still felt numb and stiff. A shadowy figure seemed to move in my direction, threatening me with its ominous presence. All the while, I couldn’t move. As the shadow grew closer, my body grew colder, but before I knew it, Adrianna’s form stood over me. Her eyes were ice blue, shining like beacons in the dark. Pure hatred burned within their gaze. A familiar scowl on her face, one of an unstoppable anger. Even though she wasn’t moving her lips, I could hear her voice in my head screaming. I was trying my damnedest to reach out to her, but I could barely feel my body moving by the point I felt like I had finally moved an inch closer to my sister. Her form burst into a flock of loudly cawing crows that covered the entire room. As the birds threatened to swallow me whole, I could move finally and realized I was all alone, sitting upright in my empty room. My heart pounded in my chest cavity, while my mind was torn between the feelings of pain and longing and terrifying confusion. It took me a few moments to gather my bearings. My head was pounding as a hammer was used to wake me up. My limbs were weak and unsteady, and it took me a couple of hours to get myself out of bed. I feel as though something was trying to tell me I needed to go to this empty cabin at the edge of town. For as long as I’m alive, I have known it as this abandoned building no one ever bothers looking in because it’s apparently as ancient as the oldest parts of the country and anyone within a living memory remembers it as being empty and unused. That said, I followed my gut feeling that day and made my way to the dilapidated cabin. The headache that day wouldn’t go away. It kept pounding away at my skull in searing waves over and over. The closer I got to my destination, the worse the pain seemed to get. By the time I was facing the cabin, the pain was spreading down my neck and my eyes were watering. Slight soreness caressed my entire body as if I had come down with a fever. Walking slowly towards the cabin, my entire body began feeling as though it was going to explode soon enough. The tension was almost radiating from under my skin. But all of that would go away as soon as I opened the old wooden door and set my eyes on what was inside the cabin. The headache, the soreness, and the immense weight of this unknown condition fled from my body with wave after wave of chills. A decapitated head, unpreserved; half rotten blue, and missing one eye. A few teeth were missing as well. For the first time in a long time, I’ve felt such a strong reaction to human remains. My stomach twisted and my head spun. The stench finally penetrated through my shock. The previous night’s dinner mixed in with digestive juices tasted fresh in my mouth as I looked around. The whole place would put the lowest depths of hell to shame. Human body parts were strewn about. Furniture made up of yellowish leather all over. Pants, coats, gloves... A necklace from five nipples on a string hung about from the ceiling. Another head, in a more advanced stage of decay, stood on display on a shelf. My head was spinning, and my body wanted nothing to do with that place. Until I caught a glimpse of a leather jacket. Yellow and brown. Patched up awkwardly with random pieces of leather, including a couple of faces at the bottom. I was going to throw up all over the damn thing if I didn’t notice a mark on the center. A tattoo; A rose flanked by six wings. It was Addie’s tattoo. One of a few she had gotten. All feelings of disgust turned into an all-consuming flame in my bowels as the memories come down drowning my mind in a mixture of rage and misery. I trashed half of the trinkets and homemade clothes. I wanted to destroy all of it, but in my anger-driven rampage I overexerted myself and ended up finding a hunting laying under a table. Whoever was responsible for this sick house of horrors had to pay dearly. I picked up the hunting rifle and made my way to the nearest chair that had no leather on it. Sitting on that chair, clasping the rifle firmly, all I could think about was how I’d torment whoever desecrated Adrianna’s body. Whoever disturbed her peace was about to experience hell on earth before I sent them to the next life. Old addictive habits were creeping up in the back of my mind as memories I’d usually hate to remember, but at that moment, I accepted the return of the other me. I wanted him back. I needed this. The world could use him at that moment, or so I thought. The blinding flames of rage were all I had in these moments. The moment I heard a truck approach the cabin, I stood up and carefully made my way to the window, as I didn’t want to make too much noise and scare off the owner. A middle-aged man about my father’s age, tall and lanky, he has been carrying yet another, fresh trophy. I kept following his eyes as he inched closer to the door. I’ll never forget that empty, almost side-eyed gaze. As soon as he opened the door, I leaped out of the shadows and clocked him across the face with the butt of the rifle. He went down instantly. Letting out a pained moan as he lost consciousness. Oh, how human this monster had looked. So much like myself and yet so different. Animalistic, alien of sorts. I stood over him, wondering what kind of torture I’d inflict on him before I blow his head off. Looking around the room for any source of inspiration, I once again looked at that damned coat with Addie’s tattoo. The memories came flooding down again. It all came back; us playing in this very forest; us going to school, going camping with our parents, how I knocked out the first boy who broke her heart, how she popped the tires of the bike of the first girl that broke my heart, how we fought and made up, how we were best friends even though we didn’t speak for long times during the last few years of her life. The way she hugged me when I quit the army, her voice echoed in my mind as she expressed her gladness at my return to civilian life. The pain we shared when our parents passed. All of it came back, rendering me unable to do anything to this monster at my feet. I broke down into tears all over again, cursing him repeatedly until my head started aching again. After that, I called the police instead and told them I found their grave robber. I had to fabricate a story about how I was passing by the cemetery when I saw him drag out something suspicious and followed him up to the cabin. I don’t know if they really bought into any of that, but I don’t care. The blow to his head made him forget who I was, and he ended up confessing everything. Turns out two of the six women whose remains I found in this cabin were murdered by this man as opposed to being dug out. A local handyman whose name is now all over the local news, like he’s some kind of new Dracula or Jack the Ripper. They sent him to an asylum because he was too insane to stand trial. The media barely mentioned the names of the victims because an insane fetishist murderer is somehow more appealing to the public than the sum of his victims. Personally, I wanted nothing to do with the outrage. Luckily, the police force that arrived at the cabin took credit for everything. I’ve better things to do, like fixing my cervical spine and getting rid of this constant splitting headache.

I ran a deep sea mining operation, but something other than climate change stopped us.

xzq3gc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzq3gc/i_ran_a_deep_sea_mining_operation_but_something/

THE ARTEFACT Twenty-five kilometres North-West of Madagascar, under the guidance of Triskele – a privately held operation, that had set up the world’s first successful deep ocean mining project harvesting manganese, cobalt, and copper. It was a project that became the most ethical, and sustainable mining project around, but before we go any further, I would like to say I have heard the comments that must be spinning in your mind, but a frequent point I would bring up is have you heard of Ituri? North Kivu? Or in the most simplistic sense, do you understand phones, or that hip hybrid vehicle of yours, true place of origin? Not the sleek designs, but rather the components properties, the sweet blends like coffee that warm you up to the delusion your somehow ecologically sound. I won’t pretend as if any mistakes haven’t been made. The lives lost at the Bay of Guinea were terrible, and maybe if the Guinean leaders had cared for people, as much as the luxury of sending their kids to Europe, things might be different. There is one thing that had pulled me from the rampant anger you might guess from the earlier paragraph, and I can still recall that form as she swept into my office that day. Dr. Ntsay was her name, and she was an immense presence, especially around her peers and superiors. She was someone you either had to love or loved to hate, with how she dominated a room. I the simple head researcher of this retrofitted oil rig, had the pleasure to know her and love her. It was dinner night, and we had planned on preparing some of the freshly harvested fish we had traded with an ocean tug, that would pass on the periphery of the site, as our daily rations had not brought in the level of comfort food as the fresh tuna would, especially when complimented with the cloves, thyme, and lemon zest that had also been traded for a small distributive fee. ‘So, shall we leave?’, Ntsay asked. ‘Let me wrap up this report.’, I said. ‘How are you ladies? Date night? I have plans too.’, Stehr quipped. Ntsay sighed, as she attempted to explain to Stehr that his bravado was pointless with some lesbians in the room. The pale, and bony man in charge of security was seemingly incapable of turning off his chauvinistic charm as he continued his parade around. His arrogance was a guidebook for most of his interactions with the outside world, and it would only become a bigger problem, as a last minute emergency was reported to my office. The boy who cried wolf had not done much to convince me the situations true emergency, as what had usually happened in these ‘emergencies’ was the tree-lovers across most of the departments had a habit of getting agitated when an uncatalogued species of some translucent whale, squid, or goose swam nearby the drilling stations, and they had wished to preserve it, knowing full well the time, money, and lost revenue could handle most African state debt, but the young man had been quick to retort that it had been a true emergency that had summoned me. ‘You’re going to need my help.’, Stehr said. ‘We will call on you, once a boat needs to be sent to pick up the shredded squids.’, Ntsay said. ‘You can laugh, but you both need a man around.’ ‘And you need vitamin pills.’, I said. ‘This is my natural body form, you know I take my diet seriously.’ I urged the two to shut up, as we made our way onto the submersible platform we used to send repair crews, to handle the drilling rakes. We would be met by a task force that had been formed to address the item, the young man called nothing more then a thing. It seemed like the usual ecological fearmongering to me, there was a rack of PESU suits to my left, and the scientific task force had been huddled into the corner of the right of the room, looking out through the framed window, almost hoping to catch a sight out of the ‘thing’ through the tricarbonite glass that we were neatly wrapped in. One of them looked over us, and immediately pulled Ntsay into their circle, as Stehr went ahead and took control of the platform’s steering from the platform operator, leaving me all alone, and without a briefing from a group that ended by night plans. ‘Here we go.’, Stehr announced. The long pulley made from highly strung out carbon strings had propelled us lower, and lower through the mono-rail as we gently pushed through the sea smog composed from the limestone, and shale deposits that had been grounded down into smooth dust, as it permeated across the waters surface, but as the giant clouds dissipated, we were met by the sight of heavily damaged mulit-billion dollar equipment carved into smooth knobs. ‘Who messed up?’, I asked. ‘No one, it hit something.’, A researcher said. ‘It tears diamond to dust, what can do that?’, ‘Maybe it just wasn’t that good.’, Stehr quipped. It was just humour to Stehr, and he made no effort to conceal his laxed attitude towards the situation, that could leave us and Triskele completely bankrupt. In fact Stehr had taken the time to talk up the young lady from the Geological department, as she inspected the short range probe the team had deployed, once they had discovered the newly titled, ‘Artefact’, from an engineering warning message after the drills registered damage. I ordered A much larger fifty metre class probe to be sent out, as we were immediately struck by a tide – propelled by the ocean currents, the silts of limestone, and shale would brush up against anything in its way, but as the pelts of grounded stone had brushed against us, the silhouette of something in tide had begun to emerge like a mirage. It was enough to finally calm Stehr, as he was also left speechless by what we saw. Enveloped in a jagged surface; a few kilometres wide as most of it remained submerged into the sea floor. The machines had after all managed to brush the dust out of it before their bristles had been left worn out. Its cylinder shape had further left us intrigued, but it had been the realisation through the short range probe sent by the geologist that left us stunned. It was completely hollowed out, and quiet possibly by design. The rail that had leashed us onto the rig, had given a slight shake, as the team wondered in such an ominous occasion, weather the cause could be from the Artefact, but Stehr had been quick to remind us all that it was in fact the little coughs the motor made all the way up from the rig. ‘Its not the time to go insane. Is it?’, Stehr said. ‘How long is it?’, I asked. ‘We estimated a couple of kilometres.’, a research explained ‘Man made?’, Stehr had asked. ‘It isn’t a natural feature.’, A researcher slyly answered. I had heard enough, as I explained they all ought to shut up & let me think through on the next steps. Yet, nothing could come to my mind as I stared vacuum-less across the ridges at the ocean floor formed by our machines, but it seemed now we were confronted with an even greater one. As we pushed closer, & with my own silence holding the teams back. Stehr took the initiative for the deployment of a small team to look more closely at it. He took his assistant aside, and gave an order for his brashful team to carry out his will. The chatter among the group slowly rose as Stehr pushed for me to hand over command of a team to him. I admit that the situation had overtaken me, but who wouldn’t be? Ntsay had long huddled with the technical teams to surmise what statements they could make with the information they had about the ‘Artefact’, as I was again left to pretend like I had an idea of what I was doing. ‘Sure go ahead, Stehr. Just watch out.’ ‘I will.’, Stehr assembled his team, and headed over to the deployment room, at the corner of the platform, as the group entered into their PESU suits, which were ten centimetre thick ceramic materials, that had been added onto the already burdensome layer of synthetic fish skin that functioned to provide most of the suits mobility by functioning as muscles. The PESU were not loved, but respected for what the could perform, something made clear with one of their components. A hundred kilogram artificial gill that had operated by inserting sharp needles into the abdominal cavity. Stehr cracked some jokes through the intercom, as he attempted to push thorough the excruciating piercing that was accompanied with the mild anaesthetic that poured into their bodies, as the PESU’s would launch an integration factor. It would be soon after, that I received news that the 50meter class of probes had been shot out from the rig, and would be converging with Stehr’s team as they explored the artefact. I still feel, as I had at that time that it was risky for a team to be sent out, but for as tacky I found Stehr at times, he was capable. ‘You should opt to use the fifty-metre classes to handle most of the up close inspections.’, I said. ‘I think the tactile feel, might be more beneficial.’, Stehr said. ‘Bullshit, you want to play Rayleigh.’, Ntsay said. ‘Go out in the field, as much as I do, then I might reconsider your position.’, Stehr said. ‘Stehr, we don’t know a lot, and I can’t promise I can help if something goes wrong.’ Stehr brushed us aside, as I talked further with Ntsay about the possible worst case scenario with the team not making it out. Ntsay had felt adamant we had to inform the board, and Malagasy government about what had happened, while I felt as if we still had very little to say but the most insane thing imaginable, at that point it would do little good to put people in a frenzy. ‘Its my home we’re talking about.’, Ntsay said. ‘I know, and it matters to me, nearly as much as it does to you.’, I explained ‘You will have to do more then just say that. Putting Stehr there, wasn’t the most rational decision.’ ‘I understand you might not agree with my methods, but I’m still your superior.’ I tried to stop myself, but it was too late, and I had swung it wide and far. Dr. Ntsay chuckled with anger, and continued on with her duties, as my punishment would come in no cuddle time. I finally took a seat down, as the next emergency had come in through the form of the newly uncovered emission waves, and after that it had been that someone had decided to take charge of a fifty-metre probe and navigate it through the cylinder. Stehr couldn’t be reached, and his number two, had been almost stuck in the child-state non-snitching policy, that left her unable to specify exactly what occurred, but it was clear by then, that Stehr had stirred up something. Communication channels would soon go erratic, as the platform’s cabled probe had slowly become the only source of transmission from the artefact, as ‘it’ or maybe ‘they’ had seemed to have been awoken, and its emission of a strange signal had disrupted all of our communication. Ntsay ordered the probe move over to the last known location for the team, as on another panel our sonar had picked up a fifty-metre probe heading into our direction. The feed which had been an amalgamation of infra-red, and ultrasonic imaging, had provided us with the reality of mass death. The suits hunkered onto the ocean floor had been almost squashed down, by some type of force. It was heartbreaking, and fear striking as a few had began to cry for the friends they had lost, and as I had been struck by the desolation enough that I remained unable to act, leaving Ntsay to quickly order for the fifty-metre class probe to be identified. The team picked up to signatures, but also the strain the craft had been operating under, almost as if it was fighting to keep its self up, as we were soon to be affected by the tragedy that occurred to our crew. It was unnatural what would soon occur, as the counterweights, levers, and cordage that held the platform were put under a tremendous strain. I reacted with the only way I knew how to, and demanded that the team start pulling the platform up. ‘Up now!’, I shouted out. ‘The others from the probe?’ ‘Stay with them, if you want to die. It had seemed Stehr had the same ideas as he used the platforms monorail system to boost himself, and the platform up against the immense force. Ntsay had panicked, but it was one more concerned that we had likely experienced a localised increased in gravity, a rod in the ocean floor had the capacity to simply pull us down with ease into our deaths, and it contributed to the growing sense of unease about the artefact. I was the one blamed in the decision to leave the remains at the bottom. It had been twelve hours of surreal horror since we made it back safely to the rig, as teams had begun pushing twelve hour shifts dedicated to rapid experiments, and trying to figure out what we were dealing with. I remained adamant about leaving off-site communication off, until we had enough data, and Ntsay had gotten upset enough to lambast me about the possibility of the gravity waves expanding onto land into Antananarivo, and possibly further into the mainland into Pemba, Arusha, Bulawayo, or Johannesburg. I understood the fear she had come from, but I just could not stop the sense of gut betrayal for being humiliated like that and it deeply hurt. Stehr dealing with decompression sickness had recovered quickly, and had for the most part changed from the experience. He wanted to get back to it, he wanted to find away to get even, and he felt like a fool for getting his team down like that in the first place. We counselled each other with our problems with a bottle of whisky, and left in ten minutes, as our breaks had been over. We walked our separate ways in the maze like terrain of the converted rig – its former pipelines had been reshaped, and cut to provide the stylistic façade that at times had left you claustrophobic, or somewhat like a super-villian, but it still managed to maintain a charm with the detailed hydroponically grown fauna that for the most part covered most of the ‘unpleasant’ parts, which was ironic for a former petroleum plant, turned deep sea metal mining operation. Heading back to my office, the Geology head in an untold exuberance had nearly pushed me to the floor, and informed me of the preliminary tests that estimated the artefact as being over twenty billion years old, as metallurgy had also found out about mostly unknown compounds, or even a few elements coming from the shell of the artefact. While his department had stumbled upon a few significant things, ecology had also sent him over to explain the discovery they had made that would likely complicate the situation further, as the small radius of five kilometres around the artefact had began producing significant mutations in plants, sea animals, algae, insects, and even recovered bacterial samples. The radiation had been non cancerous, but had clearly changed the biological patterns of the effected species, and one great white shark had produced some strange features that they would have liked for me to see. He guided me over to the ecology, as he ranted on about the genuine mystery, and intrigue of the artefact as I did my best to maintain a cool about a scenario that felt more like fruition of an apocalypse. Once we arrived, we heard the ramblings as it seemed as if a crowd had gathered to witness a hanging, pushing those faces of fear, disgust, and confusion aside we found the lab had been painted over with traces of a purple goo, left splattered on the team that had been left in a state of shock. As I tried to understand their reactions as I headed closer to the glass panes that split the lab, and the outside world, the scene was composed of the former shell of the shark, cocooned with a thick white film, and a few metres from it was the strange corpse, with the team a fair distance away from it. Whatever it had been, and what had caused the clear bash on it skull had to be solved by internal; but the situation had clearly been caused by the heightening stress levels. The cocoon structures had seemed to mutate, and create these strange things, and with further inspection by internal I had found out that their was an attempt at communication before a member of the team who had lost a loved one, in Stehr’s expedition had acted in ‘self-defence’. Internal too had seemed to be losing their mind, if they had made such an attempt to condone murder as a ‘self-defensive act’ Pursuing my course of action, had begun to bite back. I would be too late to act once two unlikely people had defined themselves as crusaders reclaiming their land. Without any express permission beside their own fears, and larger support from the rig, Ntsay, and Stehr had deployed themselves with a large contingent of security personnel to attempt to secure the artefact. Stehr had mentioned earlier that he must have had something that allowed him to live, beside the luck. They were going to get themselves killed, so as I rushed to analytics, I cleared most of the team, only leaving myself with the most loyal and trustworthy hands. It had taken a moment for someone to voice their discovery that coincided with their monitoring of Ntsay, the infamous transmissions from the Artefact had begun again. It was a video loop, that had seemed to attempt to fashion a person almost from scratch. Its attempt at recognition coincided with the models it procured from the PESU corpses, and the sea life it had attained through its symbiosis attempts. The unrest outside of the room, had grown as a mob had assembled demanding their right to communicate with the outside world. I ignored them, as I honed in closely to the broadcast, which had soon grown erratic. We soon realised the problem was heightened as the seismic shifts we began to feel had been produced by the artefact moving towards us. It would seem as Ntsay’s team had been lost, as I demanded some real action from the team, and for a second, I expected some words from Stehr at this tense moment, but they were none. I was left alone, and as shameful as it is to admit I had felt as if they had it coming for being such idiots. On incident, a junior officer in the panic had managed to inverse the feed, which had temporarily halted the artefact. The team had relocated the Ntsay vessel, but it had seemed wrecked, as I pushed for them to continue whatever they had done to stop the artefact. The head, wondered it a possible overfeeding could change something, as he instructed a more varied field on information be sent, and as what they had was mostly was the rigs data centre for the crew personal information, as we fed it whatever it wanted, so it could stop. It had suddenly retreated, and slowly it crawled itself back to the crater we uncovered. Another team had simultaneously run a their purported hack, but what they uncovered was just a series of generated images, their context being a series of defineless shapes. Triskele had not been as impressed, once the body count had been tallied, and the true scale of what happened was known. They feigned an excuse of economic, and logistic concerns as they moved their operations into the Mozambique channel; payments, NDA’s (which they might litigate now), and severances for the worst cases were dispatched. Dr. Ntsay, and Mr. Stehr had luickly survived, but their testimonial in the internal investigations had plundered all our reputations enough to be barred from the seas, and maybe that’s for the best, anyway. I don’t know where, how, and what it intends next, but I know anything near it won’t be safe. - douwe

He came from the fire

xzp1sz

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzp1sz/he_came_from_the_fire/

My eyes remained fixed on the fire. Its flames were beautiful. To me, their every move was a work of art. I remember how much I enjoyed just looking at them, at the fire as if it were a beautiful force of nature. I don’t think I can ever see fire as I did then, it means something different to me now. But then, then it was all I could give attention to and how could you blame me? They’re the only that had an appeal to me that night. I couldn’t seem to give my newly acquired college friends the same attention. Don’t get me wrong, we were all having a good time, out in the wilderness, under the stars. It’s just not my cup of tea to be around a bunch of slobbering, drunk fellow 18 and 19-year-olds when I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol myself. I don’t have anything against drinking, I just choose not to do it myself, for reasons I’m not going to get into. And, even though I made this know to the group I was camping with this night, they never seemed to get the message. I was constantly bombarded with offers of shots of vodka and seltzers or beer. Some of them kept asking me to try their special little concoctions of which I had absolutely zero interest in trying. Truth be told, I’m not one for parties. I prefer my solitude. My idea of a fun Friday night is being alone, playing video games, and watching youtube. That was a far cry from this little getaway camping trip. I had sort of forced myself to make more friends when I got to my university, and for the most part, I enjoyed it. I decided it couldn’t be too bad to join them on this trip, it sounded like fun anyway. I didn’t know how many other people they were bringing along and it certainly came as a surprise when I found out there would be more than a dozen of us. After meeting all of them, remembering none of their names, and then making the trip out there and getting everything for the camp set up, my social battery had run dead. I kept myself tending to the fire. Now and again, I would get up and go find some leaves to make it flare up and burn bright once again. It was October, so I had plenty of fuel around to entertain me. The other thirteen were behind me, an even mix of male and female, set up in their lawn chairs and mixing each other drinks while they blasted music from their portable speaker. An hour or so of this went by before I saw one of the guys, Nathan, walk over to his car that was parked close by. He opened the front passenger side door and it looked like he was searching for something. He was rummaging around for a while before he emerged, holding a single sheet of paper. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but I kept a curious eye on him as he sat on the log next to mine. Despite how blasted he must have been at this time in the night, he was able to concentrate deeply on whatever it was his little sheet of paper had on it. After a couple of minutes, he got up and ventured back to his car again, leaving the sheet of paper pinned down by a little rock. My curiosity got the better of me and I walked over when I saw him get up. I lifted the sheet to see it was some sort of instruction manual. I had trouble reading it, so I angled the paper enough to catch the lighting provided by the fire. I don’t remember them word for word but they went something like this: 1. Prepare a fire pit. This fire has to be started on the ground. Using a pit that is elevated above the ground or not touching the ground will result in failure. Additionally, covering the fire with anything, such as a cage will also result in a failure. 2. Safety precautions are required before starting the fire. Clear any brush, sticks, leaves, or dry material that can catch on fire. Remove loose clothing, tie up long hair, and keep it away from the fire. It can not be stressed enough how important it is to keep the fire contained in its pit. 3. Have a fire extinguisher or some other means of putting out the fire quickly ready at any moment. Things can get out of hand fast and it’s good to have a backup plan. Escaping the fire once its pit is impossible. Running is futile once he is free. I couldn’t finish reading the instructions before Nathan snatched the paper from my hands. “What’s that?” I asked with a hint of frustration at him taking the instructions from me. “Don't worry about it. I’m trying to do this weird ritual thing I found on the internet. It’s supposed to summon some dude from the fire, I don’t know man” Though I didn’t get the opportunity to read much of the instructions and as bizarre as they were, I was intrigued. On top of that, his defensive reaction and mention of summoning something interested me even more. I’ve always been into superstitious things like that and the idea excited me. This was certainly the most exciting thing I could have imagined happening on this night. “Well, what are we summoning then?” Nathan ignored me, still reading from his list. It was then that I noticed what he brought back from his car. On the log, next to us, sat a ziplock bag with some sort of white powder-looking substance inside. As I said, I don’t have a problem with alcohol but if they were about to get into something like cocaine or worse, I didn’t plan on being any part of it. “Did you seriously bring drugs out here too? I can’t-” Nathan then interrupted sharply “No! I told you, calm down. It’s not drugs. It’s this like…spirit salt or something, dude. It’s something we need to summon this guy supposedly”. “Who are you summoning? And where did you get those instructions from? I don’t think we should be calling some demon to our little camp out here. It’s creepy enough as it is” “Bro, I told you, I don’t know. I got the instructions from a weird place on the deep web. One of those cult websites where they tell you about their weird beliefs and rituals and stuff. They said he’s not a demon”. I was skeptical of course. Not just of the merit of this little ritual, I’m sure most people would be, but also of this cultist group Nathan got these instructions from and whatever their intentions were. I’ve not always been the most religious person but I didn’t have the greatest feeling about summoning some spirit. Nathan’s uncertainty about everything he was trying to do didn’t help. But, like I said, this sort of thing interested me and I wanted to see where it was going or what would happen. I tried to figure out more. “Nathan, let me see those instructions again”. “No! You’re just gonna fuck it up. I got this, I promise. Just chill out”. I returned to the log I was sitting on before. I sat, looking back and forth between the fire and Nathan. I recalled the part of the instructions I had been able to read and pondered them in my mind. The fire must be built on the ground and uncovered. Well, ours fit both of those stipulations. Containing it is most important. Anything that can catch fire should be cleared away. I looked around the ground near the fire. I had already thrown most of the leaves that were there but I cleaned up what twigs and leaves were left and tossed them into the fire. I sat back down. Running is futile once he is free. Who is he? A couple of minutes went by before Freddy, one of Nathan’s close friends and a guy I was getting along with quite well came over and sat on the log next to me with a bottle of beer in hand. He’s more outgoing and outspoken than I am so it was no surprise to me that, when after he took a peak around me to get a look at Nathan, he had something to ask. “What the fuck is Nathan up to?” I simply shrugged, still wondering that myself. After a couple of minutes of chilling with me by the fire, Freddy got back up and returned to the others behind us. Nathan walked up to the fire with his little zip-lock bag and opened it. He slowly poured his powder, or salt, or whatever the hell it was along the ground about a foot or two away from the fire, making a ring around it. He proceeded to take a small stick and etch something into the ground, all along the outside of the ring he just made. I got up to have an inspection. He was carving some sort of symbols or letters in the dirt. It looked like maybe an old language, but I had no clue what one it could be. I figured he still wasn’t going to tell me what was up. I wanted to get a look at that weird instruction manual he had again but I couldn’t because he was holding it. I watch as he finished going around the circle, making all of his little symbols in the dirt before he made another ring with salt around them. He looked at each symbol and double-checked them, reading off of his instruction sheet for a minute before I saw him nod to himself and turn towards the group. “Guys! Get over here I gotta show you something. Shut that music off too, this has to be quiet”. All but a few of them walked over after a few minutes of bickering back and forth. Freddy sat down next to me again. It seems a number of them didn’t want to be interrupted and refused to be brought over to see what Nathan had planned. The guy who owned the speaker, and whose name I can’t remember for the life of me, put up a fit over having to turn off the music. Nevertheless, Most of them made their way to the fire and were sitting around it, waiting for Nathan to go on with his plans. He gave a little speech first. “Nobody goes near the fire, throws anything at the fire, or steps on the salt. Just sit down and watch, alright? Oh, and if you see the fire spreading anywhere, let me know right away, alright?” “Sure, whatever. Just get it over with” The speaker guy said, clearly annoyed. Nothing happened for a couple of minutes as Nathan kept looking at his instruction sheet. People around the fire started their own side conversations until Nathan started speaking in some sort of weird language, reciting something from the instructions sheet. It sounded old. I assumed it was the same language as whatever he made the marks in the ground with. The group quieted and most of them grew confused expressions on their faces, some of them looked at each other and let out a quiet laugh with their hands over their mouths. After about two minutes of this recital, Nathan approached the fire, being sure not to step in the salt on the ground before tossing what he had left in the bag into the fire while he continued to read. It was obvious that most of the group was becoming exponentially bored the longer this went on but I think we still wanted to see what would happen. As Nathan tossed another pinch of salt into the fire, it burst upwards in an explosion. Ashes filled the air above the pit and came raining down on us. He fell on his back, surprised, dropping his bag and sheet before frantically crawling away. Everyone else in the group expressed their surprise as well, including me, who jumped to my feet. A few girls and a few guys screamed when this happened as well. The flames from the pit calmed but as they did so, the symbols Nathan had carved into the dirt lit up on their own. I watched Nathan the whole time he made those symbols. He never put anything inside them that would make them light up like that, that could make them burn. I could tell by the expressions on all of their faces, that everyone was in awe and caught by surprise, as was I. No one was ready for what followed. I noticed a shape taking form in the fire. A single flame reached up and out before it split at the end, into four, then five individual flames. It was a hand. The fire had grown an arm and a hand with fingers. Another sprouted from the opposite side before the arms reached back down, pushing against the ground. Rising fast from the flames was the head, followed by the shoulders and the torso. It rose to about 7 feet tall before it stopped. It was very clearly the shape of a man, I could even make out the legs that stood, rooted in the fire. One thing it didn’t have was a face. It had no eyes, mouth, or any other details. Its head was just a blank canvas of nothing but fire. Some of us just stared, and others began to cry and scream in fear of what they were witnessing. Nathan was back on his feet, standing next to me and Freddy. I could see the disbelief in his eyes as he looked at the figure formed by the flames. He tried to explain the situation to us, fumbling through it. “Don’t worry, he…he can’t leave his pit as long as the fire doesn’t spread or… or that’s at least what the instructions say…I…I didn’t think this would really happen” One of the guys got up, looking like he was ready to book it out of there. Nathan noticed. “Don’t run! It can't get you and you can’t outrun it f it could anyway”. “What the fuck do you mean?” The guy yelled back in a shaken voice. Nathan finally confessed to the group. “Look, I got these instructions off of this shady place on the deep web. They said if you follow the steps you can summon this…this thing but I didn’t think it would work, I just thought it would be fun and a little scary, I was just trying to entertain everyone, I don’t know how this is even possible”. “Well, how do we get rid of it?!” A girl on the log across from me asked, demanding to know. Nathan picked his instructions off the floor. They were wrinkled from when he fell. As soon as he did so, a gust of wind blew it from his hands and towards the fire. The figure reached out to grab it before the paper crumbled in flames, turning to ash. Everyone stared blankly, not knowing what to say or do at the moment. Whatever instructions Nathan had to get rid of it were long gone, destroyed by the very thing they instructed on summoning. “Do you guys hear that?” A voice asked from across the pit from us. It was one of the girls. Everyone looked over at her for a moment. I don’t think anyone else could hear what she was hearing. “You guys…you don’t hear that voice?” No one responded. We all remained silent, waiting to hear something, anything. None of us could. At least, none of us spoke up about it. The girl covered her ears with her hands and started to scream in agony. Her friends helped her get up and move away from the fire. I had a sneaking suspicion that this thing in the fire had something to do with it. It was somehow talking to just her. Her screams were loud enough to finally alert the other few who hadn’t come over to the fire when Nathan asked. One, an extremely drunk guy, seemed to be oblivious to it all. He didn’t notice the figure standing in our fire. That was until he got close, very close. He walked right past us and almost into the first ring of salt before he noticed the flaming symbols on the ground. Before anyone could react and get him away, he looked up to come face-to-face with the figure in our fire. Like anyone would react, he jerked away from the fire in shock. Unfortunately, the cup he held in his hand spilled, right into the fire. His drink must have been a strong one because even though the fiery figure stood a good 7 feet above the ground already, the alcohol made it rise even higher. As its growth was bolstered for a short second, the figure reached an arm above its head and touched a branch that hung over it. In an instant, the branch lit up in flames and turned to ash, ash that rained upon the now vacant fire pit and unlit symbols on the ground. It was now totally dark. Everyone had shut everything off to look at the fire, now we were scrambling to find a flashlight or a phone, anything that we could use to see. Everyone was screaming, some were still crying and it was obvious that we were in disarray from the shock and panic induced not only by what we just saw but also by the fact that it had all disappeared in an instant, all so suddenly. Freddy, even in his drunken state was coherent enough to remember and locate a flashlight he had earlier when he helped me set up the fire. He turned it on and shined it on everyone to make sure they were alright but he stopped when the light landed on Nathan who was, for some reason, standing as stiff as a board, looking at the fire. I thought he was in shock but it was like he turned to stone. I gave him a tap on the shoulder but he didn’t move. “Nathan? What’s wrong man? Can you talk to me?” I turned around. “Freddy, he’s not moving. It’s like he’s frozen in a palace or something” Freddy was giving him a good long look before he freaked out, yelling “What the fuck?! What the fuck is that?” Oh my god” When I snapped my head back around towards Nathan I could see flames emerging from his chest. It was an arm once again but it held something. It took me a couple of seconds before I realized it was his heart. He still stood rigidly, unmoving as we watched his heart cook in the hand of this arm coming out of his chest. Once again, screams emerged from everyone, all around the pit as the stench of burned flesh joined the chaos. I think just about everyone ran but me and Freddy. We were mesmerized by what we were looking at. We probably should have run but instead, we stood there witnessing it take the place of his body. His eyes melted, replaced by raging flames before the rest of his body followed. In a matter of seconds, his flesh was gone, revealing his charred skeleton that fell to the ground and crumbled to ash on impact. The man made of fire stood in his place. We got up and ran, but didn’t know where. As we turned, we saw everyone else gathering whatever they bothered to grab and piling into cars. Two vehicles started up and gunned it down the dirt road that led out of the camp, trying to reach the road. I guess they hadn’t the heart to wait for everyone else, or they didn’t care. Right before they met the road, they too were engulfed in waves of flames that swooped in from somewhere in the forest. The cars exploded and it didn’t take any closer inspection for all of us to realize whoever was in them was long gone. Anyone who was jumping into a car quickly abandoned that idea. I followed Freddy as we, like everyone else still alive, ran into the woods. Freddy knew where the road was and that’s where I realized we were headed. As far as I knew, this wasn’t a bad idea. Everything around us was wood, and it was flammable. Getting away from that had to be a good idea. I was pushed, but not knocked to the ground by someone running into me. I looked down to see one of the girls, who had fallen to the ground upon running into me. She looked up at me, right into my eyes as the flames took hold of her and she was eaten alive by them as I saw happen to Nathan. I didn’t stay long and kept running with Freddy but the guilt washed over me. What had I just done? I just got her killed and I saw it happen. I have never been the greatest runner, especially long distance and neither was Freddy but we made a good distance in a short time and before we knew it, we were on the smooth, paved road. We stopped for a moment to catch our breath. I looked back to find that the flames hadn’t followed us. It seems that this thing was able to control them at will, it could choose to burn or not to burn whatever it wanted and it hadn’t chosen us, at least for the moment. Down the road a ways behind us, closer to where our camp had been, we saw more of our group in the street. The only reason we could see them was because the woods near the road was being incinerated. The fire coming from our camp had chosen to follow them. They were running toward me and Freddy, at full speed. We waited for them to catch up before joining them in running away once again. Everyone was able to keep up for about five minutes or so before one of the guys, the one with the speaker from earlier stopped and started coughing. It sounded like he got too much smoke in his lungs. Freddy urged him to keep moving. “Come on, did you see how fast that thing was? We can’t stop”. The speaker guy didn’t say anything and just kept coughing, it sounded like he was going to fall over and drop dead at any second. I think we all calmed down for a second because it didn’t seem like anything was following us anymore. The flames from the camp and near the street had all gone out. I think the only fires left were from the cars, still being cooked. After the speaker guy stopped coughing after a couple of minutes, he started to sit back up, turning his head towards us who were all still concerned. When he did look up, his eyes went from a look of exhaustion to a look of dread and despair. In a shaky voice and looking past us he muttered frantically “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, no, no, no, no”. I looked behind us, up at a tree on the side of the road. It was in the tree. It stood on a branch as if were weightless and though it didn’t have any eyes, I knew it was looking right at us. Before any of us could even start to run, it leaped from the tree and tackled the speaker guy with force, and knocked him off of the road, into the woods on the other side. I could hear his screams as we ran down the road once again but no one stuck around to see what happened to him. It doesn’t take much to imagine what did. As we ran, I glanced behind us at the terrifying sight of the thing jumping from tree to tree as it followed. Each branch it left turned to ash and fell to the road, crumbling into nothing and spreading like dust. It was clear that it had no challenge in keeping up with us. It jumped into the woods again and I was reminded that watching it wasn’t going to be of any help. I turned forward and kept moving with the others. A girl that had been running about ten feet in front of me took a glance back herself, not noticing the branch that had fallen on the road, sitting right in front of her. The moment her legs made contact and she tripped and fell, the branch lit up extraordinary bright and she was lit ablaze with it. Like the others, her flesh melted from her skeleton which fell to the road and shattered. We kept up our pace like nothing had happened. I saw a streak of flame in the woods to my right. Once again, it kept pace with us. It jumped into the trees again, this time burning entire trees as it jumped back and forth. They fell behind us, barely missing when they hit the road. It moved so quickly above us that it eventually formed an arch of flame. This arch grew taller with each movement until a new torso and its whole body was recreated, taller than a house and it began to move. It was able to keep up by just walking. It stopped for a moment and we took the opportunity to make some ground. I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t help but glance back again. It picked up a burning tree and swung it like a baseball bat, clearing everyone but me and Freddy off of the road in one powerful swing. It stopped on the side of the road to reach down and incinerate what was left of them. Freddy and I were still running, probably just from instinct but I think we both knew there was no hope. Two streaks of flame zoomed past us in the woods, on both sides of the road, and met in the middle about a hundred feet in front of us. It formed itself once again, over the road. Reddy and I stopped and turned. We ran for only a few seconds before it caught up. A powerful gust of warm wind knocked us off of our feet, making us roll on the ground. It didn’t grab us. It didn’t incinerate us instantly like it did the others. Instead, it leaned down, looking over us. I looked at Freddy and he looked back at me. I still believed we were about to die. I heard laughing. It took me a moment but I recognized it as Nathan’s voice. It kept laughing, changing its voice about a dozen times, all different people but clearly they were people. I recognized a few of them. It was the voices of everyone it just killed. It leaned in further, I thought it was about to touch me. I closed my eyes but only for a second because the laughing ceased. I opened my eyes to see nothing hanging above me. There was no fire. Freddy and I got to our feet and looked around. It was just darkness once again. The night was at peace. “The freeway isn’t far”. That was all Freddy said to me. I followed him and said nothing. We didn’t exchange words the rest of that night and come to think of it, I don’t think we have since. We found the ramp to the freeway and walked up it. We continued walking straight until we saw a car. We tried to get its attention and get them to stop. They didn’t stop but I think they called the police because a state trooper came down the road only ten minutes later and picked us up. We didn’t say much to the officer who picked us up but when we were brought to a station, I was questioned and I told them everything I am telling you here, I told them exactly what happened and there’s no way in hell that they believed me. I was told that they found our camp. They say everything in our camp was burned, all of our tents, bags, all of the cars. Somehow the trees around it remained untouched. Even the dead leaves on the ground remained. They never found any trees collapsed in the road, they didn’t find a fire of any kind, just the remnants of one from the pit. This makes sense to me now. I saw what it was capable of. I saw that it only burned what it saw necessary to burn. Everyone in the group is still “missing” according to the authorities. I know it’s not true but there was nothing left for them to find. There are no clothes, no bodies, not even bones but they’ll never believe me. Somehow, I was let go but I suspect I won't be free for long. If you would even call it free. I know that Freddy and I are their top suspects in whatever it is they think we’ve done. I think we released something into our world that night. I don’t think it’s gone away and if it has, there are people out there who know about it, who know how to bring it back. Some people want that evil to walk the earth. I’ve been searching everywhere on the internet to find out what it was, where it came from but I’ve found nothing. I haven’t been able to find the deep web site he got those instructions from. For now, I’ll keep looking. Don’t play with things you shouldn’t. You do not know the consequences.

We Went Deep In The Mariana Trench. We Have Discovered A New Species.

xzeuwd

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https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzeuwd/we_went_deep_in_the_mariana_trench_we_have/

It's been 2 months, since our last discovery. I don't think I ever want to go back down that trench. Not even for a billion dollars. I could even get in trouble for this, since our government decided no one is to know about the existence of these things. Sure, people claimed to have recorded them, even got a supposed 'authentic' piece of evidence of their existence. But at the same time, you can't say for sure that the evidence is actually real, or could be well-designed in a way that it looks authentic. But I'll be putting my life on the line anyway, if it kills me. Before I explain my findings, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Seth Miller, and I'm formerly a marine biologist. I worked for a government-funded organization, dedicated to finding undiscovered marine life. During my time researching underwater, I came across endangered species of marine mammals, such as the Sei Whale, the Hawaiian Monk Seal, and the Australian Sea Lion. On occasion, I encountered a few rare species of fish. I used to enjoy my job, researching our world's vast oceans, hoping for undiscovered species to be found. Emphasis on 'used to' as it was something I once loved doing, but now such a thing frightens me, and I'll tell you why. It all started with the decision of our organization to investigate the Mariana Trench. After the agreement was made to go there, my team and I were tasked with going to the trench, and diving down to search for marine life. This was a task I should've declined, and I never would've had the displeasure to encounter those things in the trench. But before my encounter, we took a huge ship that carried a small submarine which can carry only 3 people. Out of the ten people on our team, I was given the task to man the submarine's navigation controls. With me were two of my former colleagues, Yuki and Samuel. Samuel was from the United Kingdom, who was a technician that once served in the military, before being honorably discharged from service, and moving to the United States. Yuki is a full-time student from Japan, who was transferred to the U.S after receiving her Associate Degree in Marine Biology, and is now pursuing her Bachelor's Degree. Because of this, she was transferred to America, and was given the opportunity to join us in our search for undiscovered marine animals. I felt bad for her, knowing she was traumatized as much as I was. Then there's also Eric, Sherry, and Daniel, who were tasked to dive down there along with 2 others. I didn't know the names of the two divers, since I haven't got to meet with them face to face. I did get to meet the last two: Yuri, who moved from Russia a few years ago and was our submarine and ship technician, and Aleksei who was a full-time student from Finland, also majoring in Marine Biology. Both of these two were tasked to stay on board the ship, so they were the lucky ones. I'm not surprised to see Samuel, Yuki, and myself being the only ones who made it back alive. I hope God rest the souls of those divers, since that horrifying encounter. Once the ship was above the trench, we got into the submarine to prepare for the expedition. "Submarine is fully operational and the power is at maximum fuel. All systems, go." Samuel said. I was delighted to hear this, as I got the navigation system ready. Eric was the head of our team, and he and his divers were tasked by our organization to lead them, and they all got prepared to dive into the trench. They all had black diving suits with mounted underwater headlights, and were given underwater GoPro cameras. Perhaps they would've made it back if they also had weapons of some kind, to defend against any marine life that would threaten them. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. I tend to think it was just a suicide mission because of that. "As you all know, our task is simple: We search for undiscovered species of marine life. Keep in mind, our suits have 4 hours of oxygen in them, and our 3-man submarine has 6 hours of battery life, and our search will be no more than 2 hours down there. Understand?" Eric spoke, and everyone agreed. "Are we going to the bottom of the trench in search for marine life?" I asked, thinking about what will happen if they were tasked to do just that. "No!" Eric said. That brought delight to my ears, since going to the bottom of the trench wouldn't be a pleasant experience. However, I wasn't so lucky as I had hoped, and it should've been obvious to me. "That's why we have you guys! Our divers and I won't be at the bottom of the trench, so that's where you and your submarine comes in. Your submarine is capable of handling the pressure down there. It was designed to protect you, so you'll be safe when you enter there." he further explained. I admit, I wasn't pleased to hear that, and I wish I didn't force myself to agree to that task. "Let's go!" Eric said, and we began our descent into the trench. Once we got our submarine ready, it was hooked up to a reel which was capable of lifting our submarine up and slowly moving us over the water, and lowering us into the ocean. Damn, I just wished they had a better means for us to get into the water than to be lifted up and lowered down at a slow pace. Too bad we didn't have one of those ships with a moon pool. I would think that the funding for our organization would afford that, but sadly the funding wasn't as great as I expected, so there wasn't enough money to afford such a thing. Because of the slow pace and how heavy our submarine was, we turned off the submarine just to not waste any power. It took almost five minutes for the submarine to touch seawater, but we eventually got into the ocean. We re-activated the submarine and went down to the bottom of the trench. From my point of view, I would assume this would take 3-4 hours to reach the bottom, longer than what was expected of our task. But to my surprise, this thing was fast as fuck. It took us a little less than an hour to reach the bottom, more so about 50 minutes. But before we went to the bottom, our lights went on and our mounted underwater camera was activated to record the events. The one thing that crossed my mind was, where the fuck are the divers? "Where is everybody?" Yuki asked, and I had the same question in mind. "Maybe they went further down. They couldn't have gotten far." Samuel said. Yuki configurated the lights to become brighter, and I descended the submarine to go further down. However, after four minutes of our descent, there was still no one in sight. Even with the lights on and more powerful, we couldn't see any divers in the distance. I began to worry that something happened to them while we were still above the ocean. "Damn, where the fuck are they?" Samuel asked, looking all over the place. The submarine we piloted, had a clear glass-like structure in the front, which allows the three of us to see all around. Despite this, there was still no diver to be seen. "Seth. Yuki. Samuel. Are you there?" I heard Aleksei call on the communications system. "Yes. We're fine, but it seems our divers are nowhere to be found." I explained. "Then keep looking, they may have dived down while you 3 were being reeled over." he said. "Affirmative." I said, before cutting communication. "I hope they didn't go down too far. The pressure's starting to get high." I said. Once again, we went further and further down into the trench. After what felt like a few minutes, I slowed the submarine to get another look around. Still, there was no diver to be found. I looked to see Yuki, who seemed visibly worried that the divers had gone missing. When I turned to look atSamuel, I saw that his attention was diverted elsewhere, looking to his right. "Samuel." I called to him. There was no response. Whatever caught his attention, had him fixated and unable to respond to my call. "Samuel!" this time I yelled, trying to get his attention. That also failed to work. That's when Yuki decided to get his attention by placing her palm on his shoulder. Once she did that, I noticed Samuel immediately jump in fright, screaming while facing us. Yuki had her mouth covered. I on the other hand, burst out in laughter at the ordeal. "Shut the fuck up, mate!" Samuel said to me. "I was calling you, man! Why weren't you responding!?" I asked him. "I don't know. I thought I saw someone, or something in the trench." he said. I was excited to hear his words, thinking he might have seen one of the divers. "That's good! That means they're actually here with us, so we can continue!" I said, ecstatically. Samuel on the other hand, had a worried expression. "Do you recall our divers having spears?" he asked. That was a strange question. If I recalled correctly, none of our divers were allowed weapons. So, why the hell would they be holding spears? "What do you mean, spears? When did they get weapons?" I asked. "While we were going down, I caught a glimpse of someone, or something, watching us. It looked like a diver, until I got to focus on it. It didn't look right. It was holding what looked like a white, bony spear and it had a pinkish-color to its body. But if I remember, our divers are all wearing black suits." he said. "What? A mermaid?" I asked. This was meant to be a joke, of course. "I don't know. When I tried to look at the thing carefully, it looked like it had a huge fin beneath it. Once I tried to get a good look at its face, it swam away at quick speed." Samuel said. "Seriously bro, shut the fuck up. I think you're just fucking with us right now, or you took something before being in the sub with us." I said, trying to process this as a joke, even though my gut instinct kept telling me he was speaking the truth. "Go fuck yourself, mate. I ain't on drugs and I'm hard-headed as an ox. I know what I saw, and that thing didn't look like a diver." he said. Yuki, look frightened. "Please, stop fighting." she said. After that, I tried to calm myself down. "My apologies for not taking this shit serious. I'm just not in the mood for jokes right now, alright? Our divers are gone." I said to him. "It's no joke, bloke. I saw that thing, and I'm telling you exactly what it looked like." he told me. I didn't want to say anything to him after that, in order to not start another argument over this. Eventually, after what felt like 50 minutes traveling, we reached the bottom of the trench. Luckily, our submarine had a hydrophone mounted on it, so we would be able to pick up sounds at the bottom of the trench. During our time there, I was hoping we could get the sound that was called the 'Western Pacific Bio-twang' which to this day, is not identified of its source or origin. If we can hear it again, we would be able to track the sound to its origins. Upon observing the bottom of the ocean, we came across some debris of plastic and other man-made junk left to be thrown away. Fucking people. The last thing I want is this trench being used as another dumping ground. Other than debris of man-made waste, I did see some species of fish, fish you most likely won't find anywhere above the trench. Some of these fish, looked strange and terrifying, but at the same time, mesmerizing. One of them seemed to glow a beautiful, blue bio-luminescent color. It resembled a squid, yet slightly bigger than what we'd normally see above the trench. I'm amazed how such creatures could even exist. "I think I found an undiscovered species of marine life." I thought to myself, just looking at the thing. My mesmerized sensation turned into a sensation of pure terror, when I heard it. It sounded like a strange screeching sound, which caught my attention. We tried to pinpoint where the sound came from, and to our shock, the sound was detected to come from what looked like some sort of underwater cavern at the bottom. I was surprised to find out our previous subs hadn't caught this sound, nor had they caught a glimpse of what we saw that followed the sound. I decided to put my attention to the bio-luminescent creature once again. But to my dismay, it was gone, along with all the other fish we encountered. It's as if whatever made that horrible sound, scared them off. Then, I had this strange and grave feeling that something outside of the sub to my left, was watching me. In my peripherals, I noticed a face peering at me to the side of the submarine through the glass dome. I didn't dare turn to face it, as I think this thing would try to get out of view if I did. When I focused more on my peripheral view of this thing looking at me, I began to breathe rapidly, out of fear and terror of what I'm looking at. This thing, didn't look human. In fact, despite having a human-shaped head, it had what looked like two ape-like eyes as well as a face that appeared pinkish-brown and a mix between scaly and fleshy. I could see it blinking. That's when I finally turned my face to look directly at the thing, and I got a good look at its face before it tried to swim away. As soon as it turned, I was able to see its huge fin for a split second before it was gone. Then, I heard screaming. Yuki was in terror, pointing in the direction of another cavern. When she got the lights to face it, we were met with a horrifying sight. What Samuel described, matched everything we were looking at. This 'thing' resembled what I assumed to be a mermaid of some kind, but it was far from pleasant to look at. It certainly didn't look like Ariel, or having the top part of a human body. No, this thing looked exactly like how you would expect sea creatures to look. Then, it turned its face and saw us looking at it. It opened its mouth, and we could hear it through the hydrophone, giving that same horrendous screech, before swimming quickly into the cavern. "We need to get the fuck out of here!" Samuel asked. I immediately agreed to this, as I got our submarine facing up and ready to leave at full speed. But as the submarine was faced up, we got another look at, these things. There were over 30 of them, and I noticed they were all swimming around in a circular pattern. One of them immediately charged at us, holding the tip of its spear, pointing at the sub's dome. Once it hit, I caught a more clear view of its facial features. This thing was horrifying as fuck, and Yuki was screaming in terror. "Get us out, quick!" she yelled, and I continued getting the submarine out at full speed. I was lucky to see that the spear only left a slight scratch on the glass structure of the submarine. I guess this thing really was made to withstand the bottom of the trench let alone objects coming at it, and I was grateful of that. More and more spears kept hitting our submarine, and I could tell from the loud 'tapping' noises all around us. Unfortunately, another sound was heard. Yuki screamed in terror, and I saw her looking up. It seemed that these creatures were now chasing after us, with one of them holding onto one part of the sub. So it was going to the surface with us. Upon ascending, I noticed a familiar sight. It was one of our divers, Sherry. She swam to the front of the submarine, before hitting against the front view. I started to think she had gone mad, as she was trying to get in by pounding on the glass structure, where the spear had struck. Upon looking at her, she looked like she was mauled by something. Blood was coming out of her from around her body, and she looked terrified as all hell. We could hear her muffled screams. Even though I couldn't understand what she was saying, Samuel could make out what it was. "She's saying those mermaids killed everyone else. They're gonna kill her next. She wants us to let her in." he said, understanding Sherry's words. I wanted to help her out, but there was nothing we can do. What we could do for her at least was allowing her to surface at the top with us as long as she stays against the front view of the submarine. However, this idea wasn't clear in her head, as she kept continuously pounding into the glass. I don't think she realizes we'll all die with her if she successfully creates a 'hole' through the scratched surface, but I guess that's what happens when fear and panic kicks in and you lose all sense of reason, desperately trying to survive. Unfortunately, she was eventually grabbed onto by the mermaids who followed us, and she started to scream in terror. I felt sorry for her, knowing she's about to die down there with the other divers who didn't make it out. Most of those creatures went away, taking her with them, while only a few remained chasing us. As they kept chasing us, we reached the top of the trench and came upon sunlight shining through the ocean and we could see the ship. As we got closer and closer to the ship, the creatures turned away and went back down the trench. I was grateful that they weren't going to chase us all the way to our ship, but knowing that we lost five of our crewmates was still saddening. When our submarine emerged above the water, Yuri and Aleksei were surprised to see us. Then, we were speaking through the mic. "Hey, our task isn't completed yet. We still have about an hour left to do our task." Yuri said to us. Aleksei spotted Yuki through the glass of the submarine, crying. "What happened?" Aleksei asked. Yuki told them everything. "There are things down there trying to kill us. They had weapons." she said. I noticed Aleksei through the glass, giving an expression as if he wasn't buying the story. He must've thought something else had happened. Yuri went to check on the submarine, to see if it needed repairs. That's when he saw the scratch on the glass the spear made. "Did you guys do that?" Yuri asked, before speaking again. "Actually, never mind. It would have been impossible for any of you guys to do. You would need lots of strength and the ability to do such tremendous force to put a scratch like that. The glass on this submarine is twice as hard as diamond, and designed to be impenetrable." he said. After that, they had us slowly reeled back onto the ship, and once back on the ship, we exited the submarine and continued explaining to Yuri and Aleksei of the incident. As for Aleksei, he was surprised to hear Yuri's words, and started asking what happened. "So what did you guys see in the trench? Were there massive sharks that tried to eat you guys?" "No." I said. "You would laugh if I told you that we saw what we assumed to be mermaids down there, and they chased after us." I explained. "That's funny, Seth. But seriously, what did you guys see down there?" he asked again. "Exactly what the fuck I'm telling you we saw, Aleksei. I'm dead serious. That's why I'm not going the fuck back down there!" I yelled. Samuel chimed in. "He's telling you the truth. I saw it too. We all saw it. Even poor Yuki here saw it." he said, pointing at Yuki who's a crying mess for the horrifying experience she got. I was right to assume that she's afraid to go on another submarine expedition to find marine life, muttering to herself that she wishes to stay on land from now on. Can't say I blame her. Even I didn't want to continue anymore. Aleksei still believe us on the other hand, and he said this little gem. "So I take it you guys actually saw a marine carnivore in the trench, or you're covering up a crime you committed. I'm not buying the whole 'mermaids' story." he said. "Then go take a look at the recording, you fucking twat!" Samuel yelled, pissed off at Aleksei. I was about to laugh at this, when Yuri screamed. "Look!" he said, pointing at the direction of the ocean. What we saw, made me excited at first. Eric made it back alive, or so I thought. He didn't swim to us. Instead, he was just floating there. Nevertheless, I was still excited to see him. I got to him, and pulled him out of the water. As I did, my excitement turned to horror. His left leg was gone, and his right leg had two of those strange spears pierced in it. Upon examining them, they seemed to be made of some kind of bone-like material. Eric's face looked like his nose was ripped right off, and he didn't have any eyes. I realized at that moment, that he was dead. I wasn't surprised that his GoPro camera didn't come with him as evidence, probably because it sank, or those things have it. "What the hell happened to him!?" Aleksei asked. "So now do you fucking believe us!?" I told him. "But that's impossible! None of the previous expeditions caught those things!" he yelled. "But we fucking saw them, alright!" I screamed back at him, trying to make him see the truth. "All of you, shut the fuck up!" Yuri said, irritated with the arguing. "Let's check the recording to see the truth. That way, we can squash this argument and move on." he spoke. After that, we got the sub taken in for Yuri to repair for damages while we observed the footage we caught from our camera. Viewing the footage, there was nothing happening as much, which was expected. I was delighted to see that bio-luminescent squid-like creature in the footage, and Aleksei was shocked to see that such a creature exists. When we got to the last part of the footage, it was confirmed. Even Aleksei sat there, not saying a word, and he looked horrified of what he's seeing in the footage. It was one of the creatures, and the camera caught a clear view of its face. Even though it wasn't facing the camera, we could see it looking up at the sub, and it seemed to be holding a bony-white spear in such a way that it was getting ready to throw it. Aleksei simply got out of his seat and walked away. Shortly after that, Yuri came in to see for himself what we caught. His eyes went wide with what we're seeing in the footage. After that, he pointed at the spear the thing was holding and said: "That would explain the strange scratch marks and dents on the submarine. You guys wouldn't have been able to do that kind of damage." Looking at the spear, it was clear to him what had made the marks on the sub. "Mermaids!" Yuri said. "You guys found mermaids! Imagine the national headlines we'll make in discovering this!" he further explained. I admit, I wouldn't mind becoming famous for catching a first, authentic, clear recording of a mermaid. However, after we revealed to our organization of our finding, things took a dark turn for us. The government who was funding us, stepped in after being notified of our findings, and confiscated the evidence, and the submarine as well, knowing it had marks that could also be counted as evidence of our encounter. The weapons that pierced Eric's leg was also confiscated, and so was his body which according to the officials, claims his body might be contaminated with bacteria or diseases we're not immune to. We were also told not to speak about this, or we risk losing our jobs in the organization. But that didn't matter to me, because I quit my job after that incident. The rest of our diving team, are considered M.I.A, which disgusted me because I know what really happened to them. So now, here I am, typing this message to you about what we saw. I never saw my former colleagues again after that incident, so I'm hoping they're not going back down there, unless they're insane. Let this be a warning to any of you who wish to go diving down in the ocean. If you ever decide to dive in the Mariana Trench, be extremely careful. Who knows if those things, are still down there?

I live on a farm that is still very much in touch with its pagan origins, and I'd like to share some of my stories (Part 3)

xzb8s9

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Find the previous part to my story here https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/x8mci1/i_live_on_a_farm_that_is_still_very_much_in_touch/ It would have been fitting if Pete had reappeared on the anniversary of his disappearance. If the days had aligned so exactly decades in the future. There were no longer any family celebrations at the farm. Relatives stayed away, unwilling to lose one of their own nearest and dearest. They came together when my great grandmother died, but left early and didn't let the children out of their sight. My grandparents and my father and my Uncle Joe still did something every year in his memory. It was an empty kind of mourning, with no grave to visit and no closure, but he was lost and the knowledge could scarcely be overlooked. They never laid flowers, because that would be admitting he was gone forever. Instead, they would leave small items of his at the base of the fence by the Old Paddock. Even though he'd disappeared behind a bush, everyone knew the Footprint was to blame, and besides, the bush had long been torn up. They had dug deep beneath where its roots had been, looking for old mine shafts that might have claimed him. The items they left were always gone the next day. Maybe the Footprint took them as an offering, or maybe an animal had stolen them. But for more than 23 years they continued their practice. The day Pete came back was cold and grey, with a freezing, thick fog. By that time, Joe had married, and although he and his wife had stuck around for a while, they had left when Joe's wife had fallen pregnant. It's not that they didn't want any part of farm life, they just didn't want to raise a child on that farm. Not a farm that swallowed offspring. My father had stayed, shouldering the burden bitterly, and when he married my mother she had come to live on the farm with no qualms whatsoever. It has never surprised me that my mother embraced the oddities of the farm so readily. She is a lovely woman, but strange. If she'd lived in the city I feel like she would have been the one children called a witch, but here on the farm she was just practical, and fitted in perfectly. She collected small animal bones which she kept in carefully labeled jars, and threw salt over her left shoulder, and never opened an umbrella in the house. She saluted magpies every single time she saw one, and the only time I ever saw her really upset was when my brother had been tasked with clearing the table after the evening meal and had neglected to remove the table cloth. He had been about to go to bed when she'd found him and scolded him. "Never leave a white tablecloth on the table overnight!" she told him. "It brings death!" I realise I haven't spoken much about my brother, but I do have one. An older one named Luke. He left as soon as he turned 18 to go and live in The City. My father had hoped he would take on the farm, but Luke always maintained he couldn't wait to get away, and kept his word. He had left directly after his birthday dinner, kissing my mother goodbye as she wept, and nodding at my father. He sends me emails sometimes. He works with computers. And he was my ally for a while before he left. Anyway. My father had been up early to deal with the morning milking. My mother was heavily pregnant with Luke but she still got up to prepare breakfast. My grandfather had arthritis and took longer to get going in the mornings, so my father had gone on ahead. He had a dog with him - the predecessor to poor, doomed Rowan, the dog I'd killed by playing on the stones. This dog was a sturdy mongrel of indiscriminate ancestry, named Conan, that my father had hand raised from a puppy and he followed my father everywhere, but on this occasion he had run off into the fog despite my father calling after him. It was unlike Conan to disobey a command, and that in itself was unusual enough for my father to take a diversion and go after him. "I knew something was up," my father would tell me years later. "Conan hardly ever barked, and that day he was bellowing. Sounded strange in the fog and I could barely tell which direction it was coming from. Sounded like I had a hundred big dogs surrounding me from all sides, all of them barking up a storm." It will surprise nobody that my father eventually tracked Conan to the Old Paddock. The big dog was stood by the fence, legs braced, tail up, the fur along his back raised in a stiff trail along his spine. He was in full attack mode, and my father held back only a little before calling him to heel. Conan ignored his command and kept barking There was a figure in the Paddock. Human shaped, but in the fog only barely. My father said it stood like a person, but in a weird stance. It had its head tilted back so far the figure looked headless initially, and its arms were held awkwardly out from its body. My father said he'd wanted to run, but the strange sight had pulled him in. When he got closer, he could see that the figure was indeed human. It was shivering, its limbs vibrating in an irregular rhythm, its thrown back head shaking from side to side. My father put his hand on Conan's head, and the dog stopped barking immediately. It was no comfort. The shape was directly in the centre of the Footprint, something my father could not entirely comprehend. Nothing willingly stood in the Footprint. He pushed the dog back. Cleared his throat. A part of him knew who was standing there, but logic wouldn't allow the notion. But he called his brother's name anyway. The figure stopped its gyrations. Lifted its head into a more normal posture, and turned towards my father. The thing in the field wore my uncle's clothes and face. Its limbs stuttered and trembled, but it took unsteady steps towards the fence. Pete was sobbing, my father said. Huge, wracking sobs that shook his entire body, accounting perhaps for the strange stance he had. "He looked just like Pete," my father told me. "Exactly as he'd looked when he'd disappeared, a 16 year old boy, despite all the years that had passed. Except for his hair. That was white. And his face, while still young, wore an expression no 16 year old should have any cause to wear. It was full of horror I can't even imagine, twisted and bunched like a shirt that had been washed and dried all scrunched up." My father had been terrified, he said, but his empathy for his long lost brother had overshadowed everything. Common sense had no part. Pete had clambered over the fence with an awkwardness that disturbed my father. His arms and legs seemed too long, and the joints bent at angles that shouldn't have been possible, but still my father had helped him. He told me, decades later, that touching my uncle was akin to performing a task that needed to be done, even though it was repulsive. Imagine pulling slimy, clotted hair from the plughole of a bathtub, or squeezing pus from an inflamed boil. It was disgusting, but satisfying. It felt right and wrong all at the same time. Pete couldn't speak. His teeth chattered together in a sporadic rhythm that stifled any sounds he wished to vocalise. There were noises, but nothing verging on language. Conan refused to approach him. That in itself made my father reluctant to engage with the man they had found. He kept his distance, even though his instinct was to embrace his long lost brother. My grandfather had arrived then, stiff in his limbs but drawn by the drama. There were tears, my father told me, but he had never been able to discern whether they were of joy or fear. Nothing really happened in between finding Pete and Pete finding his way back to the house, but the way my father told it always made it seem loaded. He never elaborated. But one minute Pete was weeping in the fog, and the next my grandmother was holding him. It should have been a happy reunion, by anyone's standards, but even as my grandmother wept and held her long lost son, my grandfather was also weeping and loading his shotgun. "He wasn't right," my father said. "Your mother walked into the kitchen, took one look, and walked straight back out again, holding her big pregnant belly. She didn't want your unborn brother anywhere Uncle Pete. The gods know we loved him, but that wasn't properly him, and your grandma might have cried, but when your grandad finished loading his gun she wiped her eyes and stepped away without looking back. Turned her head and attended to the dough that had been proving by the stove. It was all I needed to see. " It took many years and many drinks for my father to tell me what happened next. A family secret that wasn't really a secret at all, just something they didn't want to say. I know my grandparents and parents had been kind. Pete, or whatever it was, was never treated cruelly, even though my father and grandfather coaxed him back out of the house with no space for argument. He was led back to the Paddock, and my father freely admitted that he'd held the Pete thing's hand despite the discomfort and wrongness he'd felt coming from the intruder. He told me that the thing pretending to be Pete suffered, that its agonised utterances were real enough, but that nobody of good conscience could allow it to continue to exist. I can't begin to imagine how they felt. Whether it was my uncle or not, whether it was a changeling or my actual abused uncle - the distinction was never actually made - the poor thing had to die. There was no coming back from the Footprint. I am aware I sound confused as to whether it was my uncle or not, but to be fair, nobody has ever been able to say whether it was him. Whoever or whatever it was/they were didn't belong here. There are many phrases that could be used to describe the demise of the Pete thing. Execution. Euthanasia. Murder. If we're looking at less humane terms, disposal might be a good fit. He was disposed of. Ended. Right there by the Footprint even as he wailed and trembled. Culled. My grandfather blew his head off at close range, not without emotion but full of it, and whether it was supernatural or natural the body died all the same. They dug a hole, my father and grandfather. Dug a grave right by the Footprint and rolled the body of the poor thing into it and covered it up. Then went to milk the cows. Because the cows needed milking no matter what else had happened. My mother is a traditionalist. Pete's disappearance had been common knowledge, but his reappearance was only known to a select few, officially. But she still noted it on her calendar, and every year made tribute on both dates. It was a ritual for her, a superstitious promise that it wouldn't happen again, like a rainbow for Christians who want to believe that there would never be another flood. Sometimes her tribute was a bouquet from a florist, but more often it was a tangle of bones or herbs, tied up with ribbons, and blessed with good intentions. "I love you," her offerings said. "I miss you. But never come back." And I can't help but agree and be thankful for her efforts. There is more to tell, and I will tell more, but it is Pete's anniversary, and I cannot, in all conscience, talk about the Shuck whilst my father mourns. Be well people. Hold your loved ones close, because if you don't, something else out there will. [The story continues ](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y49k8s/i_live_on_a_farm_that_is_still_very_much_in_touch/)

My brother always wakes me up at 3 am...

xze1qk

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xze1qk/my_brother_always_wakes_me_up_at_3_am/

A couple months ago my seven year old brother moved into my room. Ever since he moved in he wakes me up at 3 am saying "I heard a scary noise" or "I'm scared brother". Now my parents room is around the corner but it would be to much trouble helping him to them and I usually go to bed late so I just let him climb into my bed and we fall asleep together. I noticed that he always wakes me at the start of the witching hour and it was kinda freaky. One night I was playing games with my friends a little later than usual and got into bed about at 2 am. I was too excited to fall asleep so I pretended to sleep, fake it till you make it right, but as time ticked closer to 3 am the air started getting colder and everything started going silent to the point where I could hear the grandfather clock wich is on the opposite side of the house. My window started to creek open and the chilling wind that blew in left a sour taste in my mouth. As the clock struck 3 am my brother got out of bed and climbed into mine. I'm still pretty awake so I decided to take a quick glance around my room and then I saw it ... There is a figure so tall it's head touches the roof, it's body is slender and darker than night it self seeming like an ink stain on dark grey paper. It lifted it's bony hand to showcase his inhumanly long pointed fingers they seemed to be half as long as the body. Terrified at the sight I pretend to roll over so as not to stir suspicion in the creature. Time ticked slowly by, the very air became anxious as the creature just stood in the furthest corner of my room next to a window. It stood statue like and staring in my direction. Too afraid to close my eyes I glared at it expecting it to do something nightmarish and then vanish into the approaching dawn but it just stood there occasionally scratching it's chest. I roll over to face my clock and with a shock I noticed that almost no time passed at all, only 5 minutes has passed since that thing entered my room. Trembling in my bed I refused to take my eyes off it. Then it moved, slowly making it's way to the foot of my bed, it's feet dragging over the carpet with every anxiously slow step in my small room. When it reached it's destination it leaned over, it's head hovering over mine. Petrified in fear I layed there clutching my brother in my arms fearing what the creature would do next. Then it spoke... "Look me in the eye" sounding like a snake as hissed with the wind, still petrified I kept my eyes shut as I heard the nauseating wet sound of flesh tearing open. Feeling as if an intense pressure was placed upon me, I struggled to gasp for air still keeping my eyes shut when it started to feel as if the creature was wrapping it's tongue around my neck. Afraid to move a muscle I layed there anxiously awaiting what happens next... at some point my cat entered the room creating quite a ruckus meowing and hissing at the creature. With a horrible shriek the creature's tongue uncoiled from my neck as it skittered out of the window it came in closing it same way it opened it... I wake up in a cold sweat at 6 am to find my brother in my arms and my cat sleeping at my feet with my neck feeling extremely stiff. My day went as normal, thinking the events that took place was just a dream my exhausted mind cooked up. As night came around I decided to do a little test. I created an unbroken line of salt on my windowsill stretching between the two sides of the wall. After doing that my brother slept in his own bed for as long I left the salt line was unbroken. Unfortunately with it being summer I had to open a window now and then too cool down the room and I nearly forgot about everything that happened. I decided to play games on my phone till 2 am only stopping due to feeling a bit drowsy. The salt line as you could imagine was blown away by the wind and the events of that night repeated like clock work as if rehearsed countless times. Forgetting to make the salt line a couple days in a row I decided I'm going to give this creature a taste of silver, when my grandfather passed his silver bracelet was passed on to me, not thinking I'm going to use it as a weapon one day. I took quiet a nap during the day so I could stay up the whole night, 3 am came and I already had my bed open for my brother, he crawled in and continued to sleep as I sat upright with my legs stretched out. I kept my eyes closed as the scene unravelled as usual but this time when the creature's head was inches away from mine I gave it an upper cut of note. The silver bracelet wrapped around my knuckles and my fist connecting square with the creature's jaw. It released a screech of agony as it fell backwards and unbalanced. It's eye flashed open alowing me to gaze into the cycloptic void centered in the middle of the creature's face where a blinding light bled out into the dark room. In It's eye I only saw nightmares, visions of the apocalypse, the assortment of demons under our beds and the sight of our inevitable demise. Entranced by these visions I sat petrified as if having gazed upon medusa herself. Tears swelling from my eyes as I do not blink and shiver in horror. If my cat had not chased the creature away I fear that this story would not have been spread. Every night at 3 am I fear for my life as the creature returns haunting me and whispering "Why don't you look in my eye again". I warn you all beware the creature that comes out during the witching hour. If you value your life and sanity you shall head my warning!

Found something weird in the forest, now I feel sick

xzrg0c

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzrg0c/found_something_weird_in_the_forest_now_i_feel/

Hi all, I really don’t write well, or at all. I usually don’t post or do a whole lot on here, especially this specific subreddit as I live a fairly mundane life and don’t do a whole lot apart from hang out with my friends but something them I did today is making me feel sick. One of my friends I see every day, we live 2 seconds from each-other, ride the same bus to school, hang out in the mornings. The other lives about 30 minutes away, and goes to a different school, so I don’t see him often. When we do see each-other, we make it a two day event, we get snacks, play games, stay up all night and have a genuinely good time. Usually one leaves early in the morning and the other and I go hang out in the nice little clearing in the forest by my townhouse. It’s a usual hangout spot for the kids in the neighborhood and the teenagers that go there to smoke, and it’s split into two sections, the right and left side. The right side is a small path that leads to a lake, and the left is a smaller path that leads to a perfect circle with a path leading the complex over. These have been like this since I moved in 6 years ago and never changed until today. This morning my buddy, call him M left early in the morning to go home, so me and my other friend, B and I went to the woods. We were just hanging out and chilling by the lake when I noticed a new deviation from the circular path going up into a hill but I couldn’t see what was back there past the trees. B and I are stupid, so we decided to explore. When we got up there we found the gated off area and a new clearing, with a grate tied to a tree acting like a door. B and I got curious so we went inside and chilled out. Now someone was here recently, cause there was a makeshift fireplace but that’s not what gave me a bad feeling. On the tree opposite the makeshift fireplace there was a green rope with some weird stains on it, not blood but like, goopy orange, kind of like sap. Weirdest part being is that it’s autumn and our trees are so dead the don’t produce sap. B didn’t really care and started building a hut. I ignored my bad feeling but M had woken up so we went to his house to get him and bring him back, because he’s much bigger than us and B started to get a bad feeling. When we got M we walked back into the grated off area and they started building, but I had an awful feeling. I was hearing weird shit and random wooshes, like footsteps in a place where nobody else was around. A fact about me is my ears hear really weird, weird pitches others can’t hear, and I swear the entire time we were in there, I heard a sort of whir. Somewhat like a helicopter taking off but higher, basically a very high rotation speed sound. I started to lose my sense of constant, kind of like when your coming down off of a high and you just space out. Across from this was an island, and this was the most horrifying thing I saw. I shit you not, I saw three smiling faces peering at me from that forest. They didn’t move, the didn’t blink, they didn’t budge. Three smiling faces that did not have any defining features, no wrinkles hair, no pupils. I looked away but they were still there. I don’t scare easily but I almost pissed myself. I could not look away, I literally tried but I couldn’t because I felt cold. Freezing. As soon I knew it, B was tapping me on the shoulder and he had to leave. M and I walked back his house, and B left. Nobody else had seen or experienced what I saw. Or they ignored it. That really fucking bothers me because they know how I am. Ever since I’ve gotten home, I’ve felt sick to my stomach. I feel like something has changed around me. I kind of feel like I’m in a bubble. I keep coming to weird conciousness in random places of my house, and seeing random shadows in the corner of my eye, and weird outlines kind of like cellophane in reflections. My friends want to return next week, but I feel like we went somewhere we were just not meant to go. I mean I get I live in a bad place, and I could have gone to a drug hangout and picked up residue of something that made me hallucinate, but something rubbed me the wrong way about it and it was genuinely scary for me. I’m gonna buy a trail cam and see what happens there overnight. I just want to know if anyone knows what this might be or if anyone else has seen something like this. I plan to update with whatever I find.

I couldn’t believe what treats my neighbor was giving to children on Halloween

xyrzr5

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyrzr5/i_couldnt_believe_what_treats_my_neighbor_was/

It was late October when we finally hauled the last of our furniture into our new home. The house itself was nothing special: brick walls, paned windows, and a slanted roof. The lawn was patchy and some of the paint was chipped, but it didn’t really matter. *Not at that price.* As soon as we stepped out of the car, my son Henry’s face scrunched up into an expression of angst, “Why aren’t the houses decorated, mom? Don’t people go trick or treating here?” I gnawed at my lip, realizing he was right. There wasn’t a single pumpkin, fuzzy spider, or lantern in sight. Each residence was orderly and well-kept, aside from clumps of golden leaves scattered about the driveways. “I’m sure they do,” I told him in my most convincing voice, “Maybe it’s just early still.” “But Halloween’s six days away!” he cried, clasping his hands, “Everyone’s already put up decorations on our old street. *Even Old Frank!*” Old Frank lived in our last neighborhood and was notorious for his aversion to Halloween decor. Well, *any kind of decor*, really. “I will not deface my property with plastic rubbish!” he’d always say, whenever one of the neighbors gathered enough courage to approach him, “If you want your house looking like the devil’s arse, that’s fine by me, but don't touch a single blade of grass on my lawn and keep your kids away too!” But despite his resolve, he’d always set out a small pumpkin on his porch with a few candy bars hidden inside. This year, he’d even scattered some bones around his lawn. Granted, they looked a lot like chicken leftovers, but we appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “Why did we have to move here?” Henry wailed, squirming in his seat, “I wanna go home.” I sighed, “You know why, Henry.” We’d been strapped for cash ever since the divorce and had no choice but to downgrade. Bristmoore was a small village on the outskirts of the city. Normally, I wouldn’t have considered moving so far from its comforts, but I couldn’t resist the price. My job was remote either way, and relocating meant I’d be saving a huge part of my monthly income, so the arrangement seemed too good to be true. *Maybe I should have known.* “I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends here,” I said, with a smile, “I think I saw some children playing in the next house over last night. You wanna go say hello?” Henry thought for a moment, clutching his red fire truck to his chest, “Yeah, okay.” For a six-year-old, my son was surprisingly assertive. He made friends easily and consorted with even the most reclusive individuals. Old Frank had come knocking on our door many times, complaining that Henry wouldn’t stop peeking through his windows, but I knew he liked him all the same. He’d even taken him fishing once. “Can we ask them if they go trick or treating here?” he said, as we made our way up the steps leading to the whitewashed door of our neighbor’s house. “We sure can,” I replied, running my gaze over a pair of gardening shears sitting against the wall. No wonder the place was so immaculate. I was about to press the buzzer when the door flung open. “Well, hello!” a woman in her early fifties appeared in the doorway. Her hair was curled into a voluminous updo and set with copious amounts of hairspray, “You must be the Fosters! My name’s Tabitha! We were all wondering when you would finally settle in! Robert assumed yesterday, but then we saw you lugging that armchair monstrosity across the yard. I told him to go help, y’know, but he’s been staying with our Gus day and night. He’s been feeling a bit under the weather these past couple of days, but then again, Robert’s constant blabbering can’t possibly be doing him any good.” She roared with laughter at her own joke, before shifting her gaze to Henry. “What’s your name then?” she chirped, leaning down to examine him closer. “Henry,” he replied, suddenly shy, “We came to ask about the decorations.” I chuckled, my cheeks prickling, “We noticed that none of the houses had any Halloween decorations. Does the village not celebrate it?” The woman tilted her head, her lips curving into a thin smile “Ah! Halloween! Don’t you worry - we certainly do partake! Of course…” she trailed off, her long acrylic nails rapping against the door frame, “We have our own traditions here in Bristmoore. They may be… a bit outdated compared to what you folks are used to in the city, but they’re near and dear to our hearts. Robert! Come out of that room and meet the Fosters!” “I see,” I said, my eyes swiveling into the room behind her, “So- so what do you do exactly? And what can we do to help?” “Oh,” she waved her ringed finger, “This year the festivities are on us! Robert and I will take care of everything.” She smiled with her teeth, revealing a gold-crowned molar in the back, as a bald man with a graying mustache pushed past her and stuck out his hand. “Robert,” he said solemnly as I shook it. His eyes were red and puffy and he was fidgeting with what looked like a crumpled tissue with his free hand. “I’m Alison, and this is…” I nodded toward Henry, but Robert was already heading back inside. “Oh, don’t mind him!” Tabitha rolled her eyes, “It’s all because of our Gus. He turned eighty-two last month, and I keep telling Robert he’s not gonna be around forever, y’know, but he just won’t hear it! And you know what else - ” We nodded along patiently as Tabitha gave us the low-down on each house in the neighborhood. Apparently, there were children in practically every home, and I squeezed Henry’s hand in affirmation. “Are there any kids in this house?” Henry piped up as Tabitha rambled on about the baby born in number 11, “Mom said she saw some playing in the yard the other day.” “Henry,” I hissed, but felt relieved all the same. Kids always got away with asking questions adults couldn’t. “Oh, yes there are!” Tabitha cooed, “Our grandchildren come to visit every week. Claire is seven now and Jimmy’s four, but they get along just fine! How old is your son?” “I’m six,” Henry announced, tugging at my hand. I knew standing around was exhausting for him, and truth be told, I wasn’t too comfortable myself. *Why hadn’t Tabitha invited us inside? Was chatting at the front door yet another Bristmoore custom?* “So,” I interjected, “Before we go, I wanted to ask if decorating our own house would be of any uh…inconvenience to you or the other neighbors? Henry and I like to carve pumpkins and-” “Oh, sure, go ahead,” Tabitha waved her hand dismissively, “Decorations don’t bother us! But… I think you’ll find that they leave much to be desired compared to ours…” We trudged back down the steps in silence. *Compared to theirs?* I scanned the neighboring houses one more time in case I’d missed something. A stray paper bag twirled around in the wind, dancing gracefully amidst the leaves. *What decorations?* The neighborhood looked like Old Frank’s haven, for God’s sake. Not a single hint of ‘spooky’ in sight. So, Henry and I set out to fix that, carving five pumpkins into the most horrendous expressions we could muster and setting them out proudly on our porch. We hung orange string lights on the railings and draped cobwebs over the bushes. Once we were finished, Henry started clamoring for the fog machine at the bottom of the box, but I didn’t want to go all out just yet. “Let’s see how the neighbors react first, hm?” I said, “Who knows, maybe others will put up decorations once they see ours?” They didn’t. Not the next day, and not the day after that. Before we knew it, it was October 31st. Had we still lived in the city, Henry and I would have spent all morning in the shopping mall, filling our cart with candy bars. Instead, I watched as the hem of a stray cobweb fluttered in the wind through the kitchen window. It didn’t feel like Halloween. *Not at all.* Bristmoore was nothing like the city in that regard. No costumes, no candy, and no cheer. Only fog, damp, and complete and utter emptiness. A couple of passers-by were making their way along the street, turning their heads to look at our pumpkins and lights. I expected them to stop and admire our hard work, but even from a distance, I could see their mouths contorting into mocking smiles. “What the hell,” I muttered under my breath, “What’s your problem?” I had no idea what to expect. I mean, I had several boxes of chocolate stashed away just in case any children turned up, but it didn’t look likely. To make matters worse, Henry had been dressed in his Batman suit since 7 in the morning. “Trick or treat! Trick or treat!” he chanted, racing round and round the living room. By 6 PM I started seriously considering making the two-hour drive to the city. Henry was starting to get restless and the fog outside seemed to be growing thicker and more depressing by the second. *Where was everyone, for God’s sake?* Tabitha had told us there were many children in the neighborhood, but I’d yet to see a single one. “Tell you what,” I said to Henry, who was watching TV slumped over the coffee table, “Why don’t we get in the car and drive to the city? We can visit the haunted house on the way. I heard they have a good one this year!” His eyes lit up, “Really? But… but it’s so far!” I sighed. It *was* far. Far and *expensive*. But I couldn’t bear to look at the disappointment on my son’s face any longer. “Come on,” I said, grabbing the car keys before I could change my mind, “Let’s go.” But what we saw when we opened the front door immediately stopped us in our tracks. A child. Dressed up in a brightly colored suit, carrying a small pumpkin-shaped basket in his hand. In the thick evening fog, his already small frame looked almost cartoonish, as he bobbed up and down merrily strolling up the driveway across from ours. “Look!” Henry gasped, pointing in case I’d missed it, “He’s trick or treating!” We watched in wide-eyed fascination as the child in question rang the doorbell and the porch light came on. As soon as the door cracked open, a cacophony of gleeful ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ pierced the silence. “Trick or treat!” the child exclaimed, his voice being carried by the wind, “Thank you!” The door shut and he continued back down the driveway and along the street to the next house. It was a sight for sore eyes. A small glimmer of hope in a dark abyss. And then another child appeared. And another. They emerged from the bleak fog like small figurines clad in colorful costumes, carrying wands and baskets and elaborate swords. “Can…can I go too?” Henry asked, obviously dazed by the sight, “There are so many!” I heaved a sigh of relief. Despite the lack of decorations, Halloween seemed to be in full swing and I’d been spared the drive to the big city. “Of course, you can,” I told him, ruffling his hair, “But don’t be too long, okay? And don’t eat the candy until you get home!” He nodded, grabbing his own little basket and making his way toward the other children. I knew he’d have no problem making friends. As soon as I glanced out at the street through the kitchen window, he was already standing in a small circle of kids and gesturing wildly with his hands. I chuckled to myself, blissfully unaware of what was to come. \# Henry returned at around 9 PM. It had started raining about an hour prior, but despite being soaked, he seemed giddy and excited. I had long since depleted my entire supply of chocolate and had resorted to giving out regular apples, much to the collective dismay of the kids. “I made friends!” he boasted, jumping up and down, “There’s Max and Eileen and a boy called Lars who said he’d show me his race car collection!” I laughed along, helping him out of his wet clothes and into pajamas, “I’m glad you had fun! Did you get a lot of candy?” “Yes!” he cried, grabbing his basket and pouring the contents onto the floor, “Look! Someone gave me a whole bag of Snickers!” I let him have one as I sifted through the rest without much interest. There was certainly enough for months to come. Packets of gummy bears, chocolate bars, licorice, candy corn, and… “Wait, what’s this?” I asked, picking up a small parcel wrapped in white tissue paper. Henry looked at it dismissively, “Cake, I think? Everyone got one.” Slowly, I undid the tweed bow and tossed it to the side. It felt like cake. It could have been cake for all I knew. Except I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with the concept of my son eating… I stared at it, my skin prickling. *It wasn’t cake.* Not even close. Fighting the overwhelming urge to retch, I folded it back into the tissue paper and placed it on the floor. My head swimming and my vision suddenly blurry, I watched my son shoveling chocolate into his mouth. “Where…where did you get this?” I managed, my mouth dry. He didn’t even look away from the screen, “The woman next door.” “T-Tabitha?” I croaked, my heart hammering in my chest. Every hair on my body was standing on end. Reluctantly, Henry averted his gaze from the TV. His chewing slowed when he noticed my expression, “Are you okay?” Struggling to breathe, I scrambled to my feet and leaned against the wall for support. I could smell it, its rancid stench permeating the air, making my stomach churn. Nausea bubbled up in my throat and I clutched my neck, trying to keep it at bay. “Mom?” Henry sounded genuinely concerned now, dropping the candy onto the couch and running towards me, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, I -,” I choked, my throat bulging with pressure. I couldn’t let my son see this. “Is it the cake?” he demanded, staring at the parcel on the floor, “Has it gone bad?” He leaned down to pick it up. “Don’t touch it!” I cried, yanking him away, “Just… go to your room!” He stared at me, startled by my change in demeanor, his hands limp at his sides. “But I -” he began, but I wasn’t having it. “Did you hear what I said? Go to your room. *Now*.” His bottom lip quivered and I saw his eyes brim with tears as he turned his back to me and left the room. Guilt seeped into my heart, but I brushed it away, reminding myself I had far more pressing matters to deal with. “Okay,” I whispered under my breath, leaning down to pick up the parcel, “Okay.” But it wasn’t okay. As soon as I touched it, my skin crawled and my gag reflex kicked in again. This time I couldn’t hold it back. Or perhaps I just didn’t try. When I regained control of my body, I stumbled in the darkness toward the front door. Wiping my crusty lips with the back of my sleeve, I composed myself the best I could before stepping out into the chilly night air. The street was deserted. The colorful figurines that had previously twirled amidst the houses were gone and the only sounds were those of the wind howling and a crow cawing in the distance. Wrapping my shawl tighter around my shoulders, I headed straight for Tabitha and Robert’s house, my knees weak and my head still reeling from what I’d just seen. I mashed the buzzer and hit the door with my fist for good measure. I hadn’t even considered what I was going to say. *Hello, did you give this to my son by accident…or on purpose..?* I shook my head free of the troubling thought as I heard footsteps approaching the door from the other side. *“I don’t know who it is, it’s not for another half-hour!”* I heard Tabitha’s raspy voice. The door opened just a crack, “Oh! Alison! How may I help?” She looked different that night. Somehow…even more made up than the last time I had seen her. She was wearing a long sequin dress and red lipstick to match. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I muttered, caught off guard, “My son…Henry brought…this home…” I attempted to slide the parcel out of my pocket with as little movement as possible. I’d placed it in four additional plastic bags before leaving the house, yet the smell had somehow become ingrained in my memory nonetheless. I held my breath as I passed it to her. “Oh,” she pursed her lips, “Didn’t he like it?” I gawked at her, dumbfounded. *Had I heard that correctly?* “I’m sorry, I-... he-...It’s a…a…” I stammered, bile rising in my throat once again. “A kidney,” Tabitha nodded, a faint smile on her face, “Did he prefer something else?” It was like I’d lost the ability to breathe. *To think*. This had to be an elaborate prank. *Right?* “This isn’t funny,” I whispered, “Handing out animal organs to children. Who do you think you are?” Her amusement was unmatched. She studied me for a moment, before removing the chain and opening the door. “It’s not an *‘animal organ’*,” she sounded hurt, “It’s human. Our own. Poor Gus sacrificed his life, and you dare complain?” I felt the ground sliding from underneath my feet. My heartbeat roared in my ears and I tasted metal. Trying to catch my breath, I slumped down on the small bench beside the front door and buried my face in my hands. *This was a dream. It had to be. I was going to wake up any minute now and -* “Here, drink this,” Tabitha appeared next to me and held out a glass of clear liquid. It looked like water, but I couldn’t be sure. She must have noticed my apprehension, because she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, “See? Not poison.” Hesitantly, I took it into my shaking hands and tried to take a sip, but my teeth kept clinking against the edge. “Oh, lord,” Tabitha sighed as if it was somehow my fault, “It’ll be okay. Gus lived a good life, I promise. It was his time.” I couldn’t believe how casually she had said it. It was as though human sacrifice was an everyday occurrence, as simple as going to work or brushing one’s teeth. “Well, look, I can’t stay with you all night,” she said, towering over me, “The show’s about to begin and I haven’t even started on the pit.” I shut my eyes, willing myself to wake up, snap out of it, or do anything to put an end to the absolute nightmare I was experiencing at that moment. “The- the…pit?” I repeated, my voice meek, “What…show?” Tabitha threw her head back and roared with laughter, “You can come watch if you like. I won’t suggest you partake…this time around, since you seem so…well, let’s just say it’s not for the faint of heart. Still, it’s good you brought the kidney. The show can’t go on without it.” With that, she sauntered back into her house, leaving me to my own devices on the front porch. I sat, shaking like a leaf on the hard bench, wondering what on Earth I was going to do now. I could call the police. Not that I had any proof. Tabitha seemed so calm and collected, what if the police were in on it too? No, that couldn’t be. *Was I losing my mind?* Before I could explore that thought further, the front door flew open and Tabitha backtracked over the threshold, lugging what looked like a large wooden crate. She wasn’t alone. Robert followed suit, holding up the other end of the elongated contraption. They trudged past me in silence, huffing under their breath. “It’s almost time,” Tabitha grunted, lowering the crate onto the ground in the front yard, “Get the bell!” “What’s she doing here?” Robert snarled, giving me the side-eye, “It’s not time yet.” Tabitha clicked her tongue, “She’s not got the backbone, Rob. Now get the darn bell before I remove yours too!” Grumbling under his breath, Robert disappeared into the house and swiftly returned with a large handbell. “Right,” Tabitha snapped, “Here we go!” She raised the handbell over her head and wrung her wrist five times. The sound echoed through the air, sending shrill vibrations into the night sky. Immediately, every porch was bathed in light. Doors flung open and dozens of people, big and small, clad in colorful costumes started making their way towards the shrine in Tabitha and Robert’s yard. There were clowns with big round noses, fairies with sparkling wings, vampires with red cloaks, and knights with silver swords. It was truly a sight to behold. The formerly desolate little village had transformed into one of mesmerizing beauty beyond my wildest dreams. The crowd of magical creatures swarmed the front yard, laughter penetrating the air. But before I could get my fill, Tabitha raised the bell and the chatter died down. “Now! For our guest of honor!” she bellowed, ringing the bell once, “Our initiator and oldest member, please welcome revenant Frank!” The crowd dispersed, and a frail-looking man in a black cloak emerged from their midst. He approached the shrine and bowed, as hushed murmurs permeated the audience. Then, he reached up and removed his hood, unveiling his face. It was Old Frank. I gasped, immediately slapping my mouth shut with my hands. The last thing I needed was to be seen. *Thank God the porch light wasn’t on.* I hugged my shawl tighter around my shoulders. “Let’s begin,” Old Frank croaked, raising his arms towards the sky, “Bring your offerings! Let us celebrate Gus’s prosperous life!” A girl wearing a blue dress came forward. She couldn’t have been any older than four, but her expression was solemn and far too mature for a child her age. In her left hand, she held a plastic bag. She nodded to the revenant and set the bag down on the ground. Reaching into it, she pulled out… No. It couldn’t be. *It was!* …a severed head. I held my breath trying not to gag. She clutched it, cupping its cheeks with her little hands as though it were no more than a porcelain doll. *Some doll!* I shuddered at my own comparison. I watched in horror as she placed the head down on the wooden crate, adjusting it by a tuft of its gray hair. “Very good,” Old Frank mumbled, nodding towards the shrine, “Who’s next?” One by one, each person presented their offering. Some brought fingers, others an organ or two, some even had teeth. “Don’t be shy, slide them in,” Tabitha cooed, prying Gus’s mouth open, “All must be in their place.” Once all the offerings were deposited, Old Frank circled the shrine, analyzing it carefully. “Something is missing,” he eventually said, “Who hasn’t come forward?” No one spoke up. The crowd waited with bated breath, but the only confession was that of the whispering trees. “Who didn’t bring their offering?” the revenant demanded, “Speak up!” A hubbub in the back of the crowd caught my attention. Someone was trying to make their way through. “I didn’t!” a familiar voice chimed and my heart dropped. *Henry.* He was still in his pajamas, his face still blotchy and tear-stained. He hadn’t even bothered doing up his shoelaces. “What is your offering?” Old Frank asked once he’d approached the front of the shrine. Henry sniffled, “I don’t know. My mom took it away.” A gasp echoed through the audience and I noticed the kidney was still on the ground next to me. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t speak up. I couldn’t let them know I was there. “Your mom took it away?” Old Frank seemed astounded, “...And where is *she?*” My stomach lurched as dozens of eyes crawled past the shrine and up onto the porch where I was hiding. *Could they see me in the darkness? Did they know I was there?* “Mom,” suddenly Henry was looking straight at me, “Can I have the offering?” I didn’t know what to do. Fear sizzled through me like electricity, as I tried to regain control of my body. Slowly, I moved one arm, then another, then my legs, willing myself to stand up and pick up the wretched parcel off of the floor. The crowd watched in silence. It was as though the entire world had stopped turning, waiting for me to compose myself. With trembling hands, I scooped the offering off of the ground. The smell was just as strong, only now I was stronger. One step at a time, I dragged my feet along the porch and down the wooden stairs. Everyone was waiting. “Thank you,” Henry whispered, as I passed the parcel to him, nearly dropping it as I did so. He retracted the plastic bags one by one, his expression remaining unchanged even as he reached the core. I watched as my six-year-old son placed the final offering onto the shrine and the crowd cheered. “Very good,” Old Frank mumbled, “Now for the ceremony!” *The ceremony? What ceremony?* But before I had a chance to ask, the shrine burst into a myriad of golden flames. The blaze reached towards the sky, wisps of smoke twirling in the cold air. All around me, clowns danced with fairies, knights waltzed with vampires, all to the beat of an invisible drum. Henry was standing next to Old Frank, clutching his hand, the stench from the bonfire enveloping the neighborhood. Everything went black. \# When I awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. I was in my own bed, although I didn’t immediately recognize my surroundings. The previous night seemed like it had only been a lifelike nightmare. A product of my own weary mind. Throwing the covers to the side, I slid out of bed and looked out the window. The crowd was gone and the shrine was nowhere to be seen. The fog had lifted too, and the street suddenly seemed pleasant and inviting. “Henry?” I called, stepping into the corridor, “Are you awake?” But there was no answer. A note sat on the kitchen table. It read: ***I am having breakfast at Tabitha’s*** Panic-stricken, I crumpled it up and headed out the front door. *What was he doing there for God’s sake?* “Oh, good, you’re here!” Tabitha smiled at me, a strange twinkle in her eyes, “Henry’s just having his breakfast. Come in, come in. We have much to discuss.” I wanted to tell her there wasn’t anything that I’d possibly be interested in hearing, but kept my mouth shut, instead following her into the kitchen. My son was sitting at the table in the middle of the room, scooping fried eggs onto his plate. “Henry,” I said, my voice pleading, “Let’s go home. We’re moving back to the city.” Tabitha snorted, “Oh, no you’re not. You’re part of the initiation now.” I gaped at her, “What… initiation?” She pursed her lips, “Were you not present last night?” And then as if through a painful haze, the memories came flooding back. *The shrine. The stench. Old Frank.* I grit my teeth, not wanting to remember, willing them not to be true, but Tabitha was already speaking, “We have a yearly rotation system. Every household must volunteer one member of their family, be it the youngest and the most helpless, or the oldest and most experienced. It doesn’t matter to revenant Frank, he’s been sacrificed a total of three times now, and he keeps coming back stronger every time. Not something anyone else has been able to replicate.” I stared at her, wondering which one of us was closer to losing our minds. Old Frank… had come back to life… *three times?* All this time I’d thought they were mispronouncing the word ‘reverend’, or perhaps it was meant as a term of, well, *endearment*…something to enhance the spirit of Halloween…? “Now, if you don’t perform your duties as a household, you will automatically, *no questions asked*, be assigned the main role in the next initiation. We have eyes everywhere.” She cackled as if the apparent terror on my face were the funniest thing in the world, “And of course, the ceremony will continue until…” “Until there’s no one left!” Henry chimed in, and my mouth fell open. *What had they done to my son?* I needed time. Time to think, to come up with a plan. How had things suddenly gone so wrong? “So… so who decides which household’s turn it is?” I whispered, my throat closing up. “Oh, we always go clockwise,” she snickered, patting my shoulder, “It’s your turn next year!”

I wanted a good deal. I got a traumatic experience

xzpd2i

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzpd2i/i_wanted_a_good_deal_i_got_a_traumatic_experience/

12.15 AM Hello, my name is Dizo. My mother is currently in the hospital and I needed to find a hotel to stay in, I dont have too much money so I couldnt afford anything great but I think I found a solid hotel. Anderson Hotel seems to have some great reviews and its only 70 bucks a night. I am currently in in the car that they sent me, the driver is not speaking and wearing an odd outfit. I will keep you posted. 12.45 AM (I woke up in a strange room that seems to be the reception desk of a old hotel until I heard) "Hello, I am the Guiding Light, I do not know how you have stumbled upon this abandoned hotel, Anderson hotel has been closed since 1994." (I looked behind me realising that the door behind you has been shut, when you try to tug it open you get launched back to where I woke up then I heard the Guiding Light again) "I see you have realised there is no escape... You must complete all 100 doors and reach the elevator, I will meet you there. For now you should go to the reception desk and ring the bell 2 times then clap once. If you hear a whisper from behind you immediately close your eyes then repeat the process without opening your eyes. If you hear a tap from on your shoulder then you can open your eyes, if you don’t then repeat the process until you feel the tap on your shoulder. If you do turn around and DO NOT LOOK AT ME. I will put a paper on the desk then disappear. Once you hear a *poof* then read the piece of paper. (I did all of the steps correctly though I felt a little weird after the Guiding Light disappears.) 1:00 AM I saw a couple of rules on the paper. Then I decided that the rules arnt very important and that I should keep looking forward. That was my mistake. Then I see a key on the desk when I took it it felt supernaturally heavy even though it was the size of an average key. Then I looked around the room, I saw a door with a lock on it so I put two and two together and put the key in the keyhole, surprisingly it opens without me having to turn it. As soon as I walk in the doorway the lights started to flicker rapidly then I hear something ungodly. Some anomaly, some creature that does not belong to this world I didn’t know what to do. Then I heard it approach me. I was close to a wardrobe that I could easily hide in, or i could make a run for it. This thing seemed fast and I didnt think I could outrun it so I decided to hide in the wardrobe. Im hiding in the wardrobe right now. I have no signal yet for some reason I can post this. I will try my best to stay alive until help arrives. But I any more of theese monsters appear I might not be able to.

At my fraternity's Halloween party, shit got fucked up when we found my friend's body in the bedroom. Now, I'm afraid of going out at night... (Part Two) FINAL

xzci3f

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzci3f/at_my_fraternitys_halloween_party_shit_got_fucked/

[Previous](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyj958/at_my_fraternitys_halloween_party_shit_got_fucked/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) After that, the conversation ended and I looked at the clock. It was only 10:30. I decided to spend the rest of the time looking into both any possible satanic cults that might've been well known in the area, as well as asking, for good enough measure, a few of the approved V.I.P.s for the party if maybe one of them knew the girls and/or might've decided to invite them against the rules. On that end, I got more or less the exact same answer that I gave to Ronnie; that they'd never seen or spoke to either of the girls before the party that night. I didn't want to admit it, not at all, given what happened, but it looked like the only explanation for how those girls even showed up to begin with was that Wydell had been the one to invite them. Of course, I could see where Ronnie was coming from, that he likely wasn't aware of who they really were or what they apparently had planned for him. I mean, aren't the best serial killers the ones you can't just automatically look at and say "Yeah... something's fucky with you, sir."? But even still, that begs the question of how he'd have even known them to begin with. Yeah, I keep harping on the fact that he'd always been the "runt of the 'Knuckle-biter' litter", but only because it was, for most cases, true. He was always the level-headed one that could counter-balance the insanity of the rest of us three, you know? Before that night, the kid couldn't even land a date with a girl or get a phone number at one of our regular parties. But there he was that night, at our *Halloween "Invite only"* party, with two bombshells all over him, ready to take him to pound-town. What happened in-between? I'd have believed in it being “a stroke of luck”or "Twist of fate" , if it hadn't ended with him being flayed alive on my friend's bed like that. Another thing that stuck me out of nowhere, something I hadn't even considered before. Now, of course, I'm no kind of expert on witchcraft or black magic rituals or any shit like that -- I'm atheist -- but why didn't they finish him that night on the bed? I mean, sure, it wasn't exactly an isolated space, surrounded by other people, and it *was* considered a miracle he *was* supposedly alive when I went to the hospital that night, but I couldn't help but feel it wasn't really "luck" that pulled him through. Think about it for a second, there was at least a 15 minute gap between the time the girls led Wyell to the back bedroom and the time Ronnie found him. And during that time, no one saw or heard a damn thing. In other words, there was *far more* than enough time for them to off him and make out the window like they did with no one to do anything about it. Yet, he made it... I got just about the same results as far as trying to research any articles about satanic ritual murders in the area. Just as well, I guess -- like I said, they're obviously know how to do this shit *without* getting caught. Then I decided to look into Wiccan rituals in general. Specifically, ones that pertained to live sacrifices. For the most part, there weren't many, at least not any with details that would've been connected to what happened with Wydell at the party. Then, however, I found something on a webpage detailing the practice of "Practical Lycanthropy". Skimming through the page, I was able to spot some of the pictures of pentagrams being tattooed into people's palms, sort of like a branding. Apparently, this was a community type of thing, too. People united under the belief of what they referred to as "Werewolf magic". Now, I bet I know what you're thinking when you hear that -- I get it, trust me, I was, too. However, no, this apparently *wasn't* the practice of people actually transforming under the full moon or anything like that. At least, not under normal circumstances with this practice. For the most part, the people that practiced this were more into spiritually based transformations, "Unleashing your inner wolf" as they frequently termed it. Like I said, it looked relatively harmless. Odd, sure, but nothing extreme like what happened. That was, until I read a bit more into a bit of the culture's history. Apparently, around the 60's and 70's, there was a massive growing panic about stuff like that, occult shit. Similar to the Salem witch hunts, apparently people carried a growing panic about werewolves. From what little bit I'd read, apparently one of these supposed "Werewolf cults", as the post referred to them as, was a cut above the rest in terms of putting their practices into motion. In other words, like what you're probably expecting here, this particular cult was less interested in "connections with nature" or "becoming one with their animal spirits", and more interested in populating the earth with werewolves. When I tried to look, though, the post didn't mention any of the cults or any members in specific by name. All that was there was a short blurb about their little "Master race" of werewolves plan, and how they apparently went underground almost entirely after supposedly causing such a panic, with thousands of people having been found mutilated almost beyond recognition. Though, their method of introducing others into the fold was just as interesting. I read that this cult apparently observed a specific ritual where they "Fully embrace their bestial nature, embracing their rage and unbridled savagery, and exact their brutality upon the new pledge until he or she is close to death, by which they will flee, leaving the pledge to embrace their own savage nature in order to not only save themselves, but also integrate into their pack." I'll admit, I was lost, reading this. Keep in mind, the normal practice of "Practical Lycanthropy" was an oddity to me. Now, here I was, reading some shit you'd expect to see in a shitty 80's movie. Yet, how the hell was I supposed to deny it? As batshit as any of this sounded to me, I couldn't lie and say it *didn't* add up. Wheels started turning as a chill crawled up and down my back. It was all coming together. The Pentagrams, with the site listing the marks on the palms being a tell-tale sign of a werewolf practitioner. The fact that Wydell was still alive, despite major blood loss and the fact that the girls had ample time to finish him off. And most of all, the way he was apparently "Recovering so quickly"... *What WAS that in the hospital?* By that time, it was time for me to head into class. As you could imagine, I couldn't pay attention to a damn thing the professor was saying (fortunately, I think it was only a review day anyway). Afterwards, I made a beeline for Ellis General hospital. It was around 3:30 when I got there and I walked to the desk and asked the receptionist to see Wydell. "Name?" she asked, disinterested. "Greg." "Last name, too, sir." I sighed. I didn't have time for this. "Dyers. Gregory Dyers. Wydell Lawrence is my friend and I wanted to check in on him. So can you please take me to him?" She just gave me a blank look before rolling her eyes and typing on her keyboard. "Let's see... Wydell Lawrence, you said his name was?" I nodded. "Yeah, sorry sir, I'm afraid we don't have anyone admitted here with the name Wydell Lawrence." My eyes went wide. "What do you mean he isn't here?" I exclaimed. She just shrigged, still giving me that annoyed look. "Are you sure? You checked through *all* the patient's names?" She sighed and turned the computer monitor to face me. "Look here," she pointed to a search bar and typed in Wydell's name. Nothing. "If he was here, it would've shown up just now. Hate it for you, but your friend ain't here." I sighed exasperatedly. What was I supposed to do? If he wasn't there, then where was he? I even made the mistake of asking if patients from St. Leonard's had *actually* been admitted there after relocation. This earned me an annoyed groan and an exasperated "Yes." I left after that. On the drive back to campus, I texted Ronnie, telling him Wydell wasn't at Ellis General. **-- "Seriously?"** \-- "Yeah, and I don't know where else he'd be. You were right about that being where they moved the others from St. Leonard's. But not him." **-- "Well, the news did mention a lot of them didn't make it... You don't think..."** \-- "Actually, dude... I might have something even worse..." **-- "What?"** I sent him the link to the post on "Practical Lycanthropy" and told him to read the section on the werewolf cults. About ten to twenty minutes later, he texted back. **-- "Dude, wtf? What is this shit? Fuckin' WEREWOLVES?"** \-- "Yeah, I know, it's weird, but read the part of the underground one. The ones that apparently want to get others to join." **-- "Yeah, I saw that. Kinda sick, if you ask me."** I rolled my eyes in annoyance. *Really, Ronnie, you make jokes NOW?!* \-- "Dude, that's kinda fucked up, don't you think?" **-- "Well yeah, I mean, it's messed up, but still..."** \-- "Dude, I think that's what happened at the party last night. I think they performed this ritual on him and damn near killed him. Now he's missing and there's the incident at the hospital." **-- "Greg, man, are you seriously trying to tell me you think Wydell's a werewolf?"** \-- "No, I'm saying that our friend is now missing, those freaky chicks are still out there, and I don't know what's going on or where the hell to look for him." **-- "Okay, calm down, man. Here, I'm gonna call the police and tell them he's missing and ask around campus if they've seen anything."** \-- "Okay. I'm headed back to campus now." After that, I continued down the highway until I spotted it out of the corner of my eye. It was two of the girls from the party. They were walking down the sidewalk, laughing about something. Because I was so caught up with them, I almost didn't catch the fact that several cars in front of me had all of a sudden stopped at the red light. I ended up slamming in the breaks, narrowly avoiding rear-ending them. After catching my breath, I watched the girls continue walking into the nearby grove that was just a few miles out from the college. A thought occurred to me then. That must be their little meeting place. That must've been where they ran off to that night after attacking Wydell. Then I wondered, What if they know where he was now? This in mind, I decided to pull off and follow after them. Their pace was admittedly faster than I would've expected, but that also meant it would be easier for me to tail them without being seen. I followed them across the bridge and into the grove. They kept a steady pace ahead of me. Just enough where I could still see them, but not enough for them to notice as long as they faced forward. They kept walking deeper and deeper. The further I went along, the more clustered I noticed the trees were, blocking off more and more of the light from bleeding into the grove. It got harder and harder to see both the girls as well as the actual road ahead of me. While I still had decent enough lighting, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the two girls and sent them to Ronnie, telling him I'd found them and that I believed that they were hiding somewhere in the grove. I was shaken up from my phone, however, when I thought I saw a large shadow zip across the trees at the right of me. It was fast, and at first, I thought it was simply a trick of the light or something. The girls were still directly ahead of me, slowly walking deeper and deeper until I could just *barely* even make out their outlines. looking at the clock, I saw in panic that it was already getting on 5:45. The sun would be going down soon and, with as dark as it was already, it was gonna be a pain in the ass to try and navigate without turning on my headlights, thus giving myself away to the witch girls ahead of me. I had decided, having already snapped a photo of them in the grove to show to the police, to turn around and head back the rest of the way to campus when, this time from the left, up in the treeline, I saw the large shadow figure again. I watched it bound from one tree to the next, beating down right at me with large, burning yellow eyes. The thing wasn't just huge, either. It was *fast!* It was keeping up with the cars pace effortlessly. I mean, yeah, I was keeping it relatively slow to begin with so I could track the girls, but even still, this thing was easily keeping at least one tree head ahead of the car. For a while, I kept my focus fixed on it, continuing further into the grove. When I finally broke away, though, and looked forward again, the girls were gone! In the split-second this moment had to set in, the beast from the trees launched itself at the car, landing directly onto the hood and damn near flipping the car over. The whiplash caused me to end up bouncing my head off of both the driver's side window and the steering wheel. Immediately, my vision was reduced to clouds and stars as I watched the beast then step down off the hood of the car. I couldn't see a thing of its face or anything else outside of its yellowed eyes. I heard it roar out before sending both of its boulder-sized fists down to smash the hood of the car again. I was once again launched forward, once again slamming my face into the steering wheel. Dazed, I saw the blurred form of the beast then rear back before sending its gigantic fist through the windshield, grabbing me tightly by the throat, and hoisting me into the air. I could hear the thing snarling. It was only being held just inches away from its face that I vaguely made out the shape of its head to be that of a dog or a wolf. *Oh, jesus... It's one of them! It's a fucking werewolf!* The beast then choke slammed me back down on the hood of my car, holding me there until my vision clouded over completely. I felt my flailing arms then begin to go limp. Soon, I was out like a light. The last thing I could remember thinking was *Please, God, Ronnie, tell me you've called the cops and showed them that picture...* To my absolute shock and amazement, I actually woke up again. I was groggy and my head throbbed and pounded. By that time, the sun was gone. Night had completely taken over, making seeing anything around me almost impossible. I tried to get up to move, only to find my wrists and ankles had been tied down. *What in the he--* "He's awake..." I heard a soft voice say, giggling. I looked over to see the leader of the three girls standing over to the right of me. The other two were standing at my feet. "Wha-what the hell?" I groaned, stirring. "What is this, what the fuck's going on?" One of the other two then squealed and said, "I wanna do it!" "Patience!" the main one chided. "This is his night, remember?" She looked behind the other toward the darkness of the rest of the grove. There, just barely silhouetted in the, albeit pitiful, rays of the moon, was the hulking behemoth that'd had me only a moment ago. It stepped forward. I could hear it's angered growling as it approached. Instantly, I set about trying to struggle against whatever it was I had been restrained to. It was no use, though. I could feel whatever it was around my wrists and ankles painfully digging into them. I figured they must've used piano wire or something to tie me down where they did. "Hey, let me go! What are you doing? What do you want from me?" My mind and body both were locked in a frenzy. The main girl came closer to me, grinning deviously. "Aww... He's scared..." one of the other two squealed. The beast walked closer and closer. I could start to feel its hot, snarled breaths from about a foot away. "I don't think he'd make a good addition to the pack." the other of the two said condescendingly. "Enough!" main girl snapped, "He will make a fine addition. He just needs to embrace, that's all. Just like any of us." The other two nodded to her in agreement before looking back at me and grinning. "E-Embrace?" I exclaimed. "W-Wait, what are you talking about? What are you doing with me?" "The same as what we do for the world." Main girl said smoothly. "What?!" The beast was leering over me now. "We are setting the world free. Setting humanity free." "Free from *what?!*" "From itself. You live in fear and in weakness. We are going to set the world free from this by ridding the world of humanity, raising up a new generation of peoples much better, much more elevated beyond human beings." She slowly stepped away and the beast took another step towards me and began to reach down. I started to struggle again, trying to keep from being grabbed. "When you embrace the starving beast within you, you'll see, then. You'll see what will happen for you, like it did your friend, here." My eyes grew at this. *So... So it's true. It's ACTUALLY FUCKING REAL! WYDELL IS A FUCKING WEREWOLF!* "H-Hey, what're you--" I let out a cry of pain, cutting me off, when one of the beasts' claws delivered a stinging slash across my cheek. It belt like I'd just taken a red hot fire poker across my face. Main girl chuckled. "Only through pain and endurance will you be able to embrace the beast inside you." Following this, the next minute and a half was spent in the most agonizing pain I could ever feel in my entire life, in the past or in the future. The beast, Wydell, began to mercilessly hack, bite, slash, and just mindlessly tear me open all across my body. My throat burned from how hard I was screaming. The only things I could hear over them, besides Wydell's growls, were the girls cackling. At one point, I heard the main one say "Can you feel it? can you feel the beast awakening inside you?" Soon, I felt my arms and legs start to go completely numb. My vision blurred once again and soon, dark clouds formed across the outlines of my eyes. Wydell kept hacking and hacking away at me, ripping bigger and bigger gashes open all across my body. I was so weak by that point that I couldn't scream anymore, only let out a very weak groaning. Faintly, I watched as the girls then approached Wydell from behind and each drew a knife from their pockets. Main girl held up her hand to Wydell, stopping him mid-swipe. "Enough." she said, coming closer to me with her knife. She approached me from ahead while the other two gathered at either side of me. "He must be marked for the pack if he is to join us." Then I watched her and the other two look up at the night sky. The full moon shown down upon the five of us in the grove, managing somehow to bleed all the way through the trees. That's when I watched the three of them begin to transform. They groaned and cried out in pain and adrenaline as I saw their bodies break and reshape themselves until they, themselves, were giant wolves like Wydell was. Then, the four of them were all leering down at me with yellow eyes. In unison, the four of them raised up and howled at the moon. I was fading fast. I was already feeling myself slip in and out of consciousness. Then, with two of the she-wolves at my right and left, the main one in the center at my feet alongside Wydell, I watched them plunge their knives down into both my hands and my chest and begin dragging the blades into the pattern of the pentagram. Despite being weak, and my throat being shot all to hell from Wydell's assault, I couldn't hold back from letting out a shrill cry of pain as they slowly and agonizingly did this. When they finished, they once again rose up and howled at the moon. By that point; pain, blood loss, and just sheer exhaustion took effect over my body and I faded out completely. This time, I was *sure that* would be game over for me. Unfortunately, though, as I'd find out just a few hours later, it wasn't. When I woke up, it was to bright fluorescent lights and the steady sound of an E.K.G. monitor beeping. To my right was a tray of different surgical implements, some of them being caked in blood, indicating they'd been used while I was out. My head throbbed horribly and when I went to move, I found my wrists to be strapped to the bed. Before I could panic, wondering what the hell the deal was, the door to the room opened and a nurse walked in. "Well look who's awake!" she said cheerfully, giving me an, admittedly cute little smile. "How're you feeling, hun?" I groaned. "Like my head's in a frickin' blender." She giggled. I tried to raise up my wrists where she could see, asking "Hey, uh, what's the deal with this?" Her smile fell slightly. "Well," she began, noticeably hesitant, "See, when we brought you in, you were... well... let's just say, you were *restless...*" She chuckled awkwardly as she said this. "Restless?" I asked. She looked at me again, now noticeably a bit more anxious. "What're you talking about, restless how? Hell, how did I even get here?" Her eyes were fixed wide on me. "You don't remember anything?" I closed my eyes. the last thing I could remember was the werewolves howling at the moon and carving the pentagrams into me. Of course, I couldn't exactly say *that* to her, could I? Instead, I told her that I just remembered going into the grove and blacking out after a big ass dog attacked me. A *huge* stretch of the truth, but at least a hell of a lot more believable, right? "You don't remember anything after that?" she asked nervously. "No. I don't. What happened?" Before she could go any further, the door opened again and two police officers walked in. "Could we have a minute?" One of them, a tall and extremely stocky one asked. The nurse nodded and got up to leave. He then turned to me and said, "Gregory Dyers?" he asked. I nodded. "My name's Officer Cordell, and this is my partner, Officer Tanner." Officer Tanner nodded to me, looking concentrated. "Now, Greg," Officer Cordell went on, "I can see you've been through... quite a night." He whistled. "I take it whatever happened also probably screwed you head a bit loose as well, so I get you probably ain't gonna remember *too much*, so why don't you tell us what you *do* remember." "I... I was following these girls into the grove..." I stopped, realizing how creepy that sounded. I looked at the officers. They seemed concentrated on my story. "They were at a party at my friend's house the other night and attacked my friend, Wydell Lawrence." The two exchanged a look between each other before looking back to me. "Go on." Officer Cordell prompted. "I was following them into the woods when this giant animal, I think it was a giant dog or something, came out from the trees and attacked me." "So the dog did this?" he pointed to the pentagrams. "No, they did." "The girls?" I nodded. "Was this before or after the dog attack?" Officer Tanner asked. "After. Look, the dog or wolf or whatever it was attacked me and when I woke up, the girls had me tied down and were performing some sort of human sacrifice ritual or something. I swear, that's all I remember. Look, I can prove it, look at my pho--" Officer Cordell raised his hands, cutting me off, saying, "Whoa there, calm down. Your story's actually checked out so far." I raised my eyebrows. "One of your little pals called in an anonymous tip about these three girls you're talking about, saying they were responsible for what happened to the Lawrence boy, and that you'd tracked 'em into the grove. Nice one, by the way, but next time, maybe don't try to go it alone, eh?" "Okay... but then why am I strapped to the bed?" He exchanged another glance to Officer Tanner, similar to the nervous glances the nurse had been giving me earlier. "Well, like I said, we took your friend's tip and tracked you into the grove. When we did, at first, you were out cold. I figured we were too late, as cut up as you were. Out of nowhere, though, when ambulance tried moving you, you just up and went berserk!" My eyes widened. "Wh-What do you mean by "berserk?" "I mean "berserk". You started growling, scratching, even bit a chunk out of two of the ambulances. Took me and two other officers just to hold you down long enough for one of 'em to hit you with some tranquilizer before they brought you here." My heart fell into my stomach. I looked at me palms again, seeing the pentagrams staring back up at me. ***"...Exact their brutality upon the new pledge until he or she is close to death, by which they will flee, leaving the pledge to embrace their own savage nature in order to not only save themselves, but also integrate into their pack."*** *No... No, no, no, no, no... Oh God...* "You okay there, son?" Officer Cordell asked. I didn't answer. I just kept staring at my palms in horror. The Officers then stood up and turned to leave. Officer Cordell placed a card on the table next to me. "Give us a call if there's anything else you-- "Wait," I blurted, "the girls, what happened with them? You guys caught 'em, right?" Officer Cordell's face and sigh of disappointment gave me my answer. They were still out there. He told me they were gonna continue scouring the grove looking for them, but that it wasn't entirely likely they'd find them there, knowing now the place would be under investigation. They left after that. This was just yesterday. I've been here, laid up at Ellis General since then. I haven't heard anything from Ronnie or Zack. They still don't even know about Wydell. They still think he's still either missing, or was killed in the attack at St. Leonard's. I'm not sure I could tell them the truth about it, either. Like I said, I'm *no* kind of believer in "spiritual transformation" or whatever the hell it was called, but I know what I saw in the grove that night. What's worse, now I'm one of them. They've taken me in as one of them now just like they did with Wydell. I'm gonna be a goddamn werewolf for the rest of my life. One night, a fucking Halloween party... Now I'm afraid of the night... God... I don't want it to turn night again... They’ve let me have my phone. Figured I can’t really do much damage with THAT. Not with my hands strapped down while trying to hold it. I need help. I don't know what to do, other than, whenever they finally release me from the hospital, I'm just gonna get in my car, and I'm just gonna drive as far away as absolutely possible. I wanna be as far away as absolutely possible if I have to live this way. I'm just scared though that I won't make it that long. It'll be getting dark again soon and I think the moon might still be full tonight. I hate to say it, but if that's the case, then I hope to *GOD* these straps are tight enough...

I received this series of mysterious emails. Has anyone heard of this strange town?

xzas4n

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzas4n/i_received_this_series_of_mysterious_emails_has/

The fourth letter from Mr. McCreary is posted below. You can read the previous letters [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xs0puy/i_received_this_series_of_mysterious_emails_has/). In the course of my correspondence with the sender, I was sent five letters in total. While I replied to all the letters and asked various follow up questions, he did not respond to any of my questions except for in this letter. You can read his response to my question at the end of this email. This letter was the strangest yet. *TO:* [*[email protected]*](mailto:[email protected]) *FROM:* [*[email protected]*](mailto:[email protected]) *SUBJECT: RE: Nowhere* *——————————————————————————————————* *It’s becoming more difficult to write these in time allotted. I think they may be monitoring me. The doctor asked me some unusual questions yesterday, ones that seemed prompted by government officials. Maybe the CIA, FBI…I don’t know. So tonight I’ve snuck into the computer lab without permission. I’ll try to be brief and get this off before anyone finds me.* *So when I left off, I had just reunited with my old friend Wade Murrow. Suffice to say, we were all shocked, especially me. And of course I asked him a barrage of questions about where he’d been, what happened to his kids, why his house was out here in the woods…* *But all of his answers were aloof. Either he was lying or being vague, and for what reason I couldn’t determine. At one point, the doctor leaned over to me.* *“He’s lost his marbles,” he said.* *By the way Wade was acting, I thought it might be true. He claimed that his house was always here, that it never moved. He claimed he never had a wife or children. And he insisted that he’d never disappeared.* *“Wade, you and your family disappeared. We looked for you for months. You’ve been declared a missing person by the Sheriff’s department.”* *“I’m not missing, Everett. I’ve always been right here.”* *It was a strange conversation, with him always twisting words around to avoid answering. Eventually I gave up, and I was starting to believe that the doctor was right. I also decided not to bring up his wife’s death. I wasn’t sure what that would do to him in his current state.* *So I decided to wait until morning to try again. I knew I’d get the information out of him eventually. So we all bed down for the night.* *I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I woke with a start to see Wade hovering over me with a scalpel in his hand. My gun had been placed across the room, out of range. Wade’s hand clamped down hard on my shoulder and he plunged the blade. I’ll never forget what he said when he did it:* *“I have to do this. It’s for your own good,” he said.* *Well, I fought back with all I had, and I’m a good deal stronger than my friend, knife or not. The commotion woke the others.* *The scalpel had sliced into my upper bicep, and blood was streaming down my arm. And for some reason, Wade kept going at the same spot, telling me to calm down and let him do what needed to be done.* *Eventually I threw him off me. I scrambled for the gun to take control of the situation. That backed him off. I shouted for everyone to calm down. That’s when Esther pointed a finger at my arm.* *“What’s that?” she exclaimed.* *I looked down where the blade has slit me, and underneath the skin something was flashing. Emitting a faint light under the skin. I reached for it, bewildered, when Wade lifted his own shirt sleeve to reveal a scar on his own bicep. “That’s how they know where to find you,” he said.* *I stuck my finger in the wound and pulled out what I can only describe as a small metal chip. The others crowded around to see it.* *It was a small rectangle in shape, with a symbol on it, that looked like three 6’s entwined around one another.* *“666 — the number of the Beast,” LeeAnn said.* *Wade handed Doc Singh the knife. “You need to take them out of everyone or you’ll never be free,” he uttered.* *Then came a loud low rumble. The same one we had heard when Percy had disappeared. It was distant, but getting closer.* *“Do it now. All of you. There isn’t much time.” And with that, Wade ran from the cabin into the night. Only saying one last thing to me, “Don’t let them get you, Everett, you were my friend.” And then he was gone.* *There was some protest, but eventually the others allowed the doctor to extract the devices from their arms. We tossed them on the floor, and headed out from the house into the surrounding woods. But when we reached the tree-line, the doctor stopped. “I need to see who’s after us.”* *“No, we need to go. Get as far away from those things as possible,” I urged.* *Then a curious look came over the doctor’s face. “I think I see Marla.”* *Marla was the doctor’s wife, the one who’d run off those many years ago. I glanced back, but I didn’t see anyone. “Come on doctor, we have to go!” I shouted.* *But he wouldn’t listen. He marched back toward the house as if in a trance. Whether he’d actually seen her or not, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t risk us all to follow after him.* *Someone or something was after us. That was for sure. For what reason, I didn’t know. But what Wade had said had scared me enough to get away from there.* *All that mattered to me at that point was finding Ava and Daniel.* *And so we left him.* *It was just me, Esther and LeeAnn from that point on. And the three of us just kept walking through the night.* *We trudged on until a blue dawn began to light the spaces between the trees. Eventually, we emerged from the woods onto an overgrown highway.* *My hope that we were near Brattleboro were soon dashed when we came upon an aging wooden sign along the road.* *It read:* ***Welcome to Bennington***\*.\* *Somehow we must have gotten turned around. I checked the compass, it was heading due east, toward Brattleboro. There was just no way we could’ve looped back. But the sun was rising from the west! That’s when I realized —* *the compass must have been broken*\*. I threw the damn thing in the woods.\* *We were defeated, and with our tail between our legs returned home.* *But as we approached the town, I could see some things were very different.* *The big housing development just outside of town, was gone — nothing but an empty field remained. Where the Dairy Queen once stood was and old fashioned gas station. Even the overpass over I-9 was missing.* *As we treaded further into town, it all became clear…* *This was Bennington all right.* *But as it was in the 1940s!* *I could see the old movie posters at the town theatre. I could see an old Chevy DeLuxe and a Chrysler Thunderbird, parked beside the road. A restaurant boasted: “Steak Dinner: $3.95.”* *It was like walking into a museum from the past, but deserted, abandoned and decaying.* *None of us could say a word. Cold shock ran through our veins.* *On a porch beside the road, someone had scrawled a desperate message into the shingles:* ***“God help us all!”*** *What had happened here, we didn’t dare to guess. But something horrific had occurred.* *We quickly made our way to my farm, but as I suspected, there was nothing but an empty lot. My home had been built in 1963.* *We retreated back into town square and took refuge in the Baptist Church, at LeeAnn’s insistence. To her, it was the only place she thought could protect us from whatever demons roamed out in the world, searching for us.* *It was then we began to pontificate more about the situation. We wondered when and how all this had occurred. Esther kept coming back to the power plant outside Brattleboro.What had once been simple rumors and stories began to take on new suspicious relevance. I recounted all I’d witnessed…* *The soldiers I had seen in town preceding the blackout.* *Some kind of electrical surge.* *The disappearances of the townsfolk.* *The objects and people seemingly lost in time.* *Had the government been tampering with unknown sciences, pushing the boundaries of physics? Had something gone horribly wrong in the aftermath?* *And where was Ava and Daniel? Safe from all this? Or themselves lost somewhere beyond my reach?* *I was leaning more and more toward some kind of government interaction theory, against LeeAnn’s more Biblical one. But frankly, anything was on the table at this point.* *We didn’t do much that day. Rested on the pews. Ate some food from the backpack I had brought.* *At night I woke with a start at a loud ruckus from outside. Esther and LeeAnn heard it too.* *“What the hell is going on out there?” Esther exclaimed.* *I offered to go out and check. I took the revolver with me. The two of them followed close behind me.* *In the darkness, we saw a large and looming shape thrashing around the courthouse. Knocking over trash cans, smashing against cars. What we saw was so out of place of our experience, that I had to shake my head to see if it was true.* *I’m no expert, but the thing looked like a rhinoceros. And I know it sounds insane to say it, but there it was, right in front of us. It was scared and fretting about.* *“That’s a white rhino,” Esther offered. Like I said, she was whip smart, and well-versed in biology and literature. “But they’ve gone extinct.”* *“Not this one,” I countered.* *But she wasn’t amused. She kept trying to relate to me how strange it would be to see such a creature here, let alone this extinct species. I didn’t doubt her. She seemed to know what she was talking about. But before we could figure how a rhino ended up in Vermont, four humanoid shapes approached it from all sides. Slipping out of the darkness.* *At their approach, the huge beast instantly collapsed, as if suddenly knocked unconscious or dead. It hit the ground with a thud that caused us all to stumble.* *That’s when the figures caught sight of us and turned their attention our way.* *“The demons!” LeeAnn shouted as she pointed.* *But I had it my mind to call them something else:* ***Shepherds***\*.\* *The ones who had been herding us like so much cattle.* *Those who wrangled even this giant beast.* *We turned and ran, as fast as our legs would take us. Down the alley and into the town square. It was there we encountered another strange anomaly —* *The ground itself had split open, revealing a tunnel below. It was like a glitch in the landscape, for lack of a better word. The asphalt had lifted, unnaturally from the ground, opening like a mouth coming out of the ground. At first we avoided it, but with little other place to hide, I grabbed Esther by the wrist.* *“We have to go in.”* *“No,” she protested, yanking her hand away. “I’m not going in there. Thats where thy came from.”* *But I was firm. I needed to see what was inside. My curiosity was at a boiling point.* *“I’m going,” I declared. “Hide back in the church if you can.”* *I threw myself inside. It was dark and cavernous. Deadly quiet.* *Moments later I heard Esther and LeeAnn’s feet follow after me.* *And while it seemed somewhat crazy, entering into this ungodly and unnatural place, it was this decision that ultimately helped me to find my way home. Not directly, as you will soon hear, but in a round about sort of way. And if you’ve been following along, you’ve probably figured it out already.* *Because down that corridor, we made the most shocking discovery of all.* *But that’s all the time I have today.* *Also, in reference to your question, I am writing currently from the Capital District Psychiatric Center in Albany, New York. But don’t let that dissuade you from publishing my story. Due to what I ultimately experienced — which I will tell you about in my next letter — they simply want to have me here for observation for a short while. The whole ordeal was quite traumatic and the doctors inform me that they want to make sure I won’t suffer any post traumatic stress.* *I would like to invite you to come visit me here so that I may tell you more in person, and so that in meeting me, you will be able to decide for yourself about the truth of my story.* \- *Everett J. McCreary.* ​ Yesterday, shortly after the posting of this last entry, two men in suits approached my car in the parking lot of a grocery store. They purported to be representatives from the Federal Bureau Of Investigation. These men informed me that it would not be prudent to continue to post any more of McCreary’s letters. When I asked them why, they refused to comment. I told them it was a free country and I was a member of the press, able to write or post anything I wanted. The left politely and without any further harassment. Nonetheless, the encounter did leave me somewhat shaken. When I returned home, I found that my office had been ransacked. Papers had been shuffled and my computer was missing. I reported the incident to the local police but as of today they have no leads and don’t seem very intent on pursuing the issue. I suspect the theft was connected somehow to the two men I encountered. Whether they truly are members of the FBI or not, I do not know. I want to take a moment now to thank the community. Your comments and advice have been most helpful, as well as your warnings. But in the name of journalistic integrity, I have not been diverted from my goal. I have also decided that I will accept Mr. McCreary’s invitation to visit him at the hospital to hear his story in greater detail. Thank you all for your support and advice. I’ll post his [final letter](https://www.reddit.com/user/C_Rand_NYT/comments/y49c0f/i_received_this_series_of_mysterious_emails_has/) in the next installment. As soon as I get a new computer.

My three-week-old daughter started talking, and it’s scaring the shit out of me

xys7cx

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xys7cx/my_threeweekold_daughter_started_talking_and_its/

My husband died and our first child was born within the past two months, so all I wanted was for life to be boring for a while. Not ‘normal.’ No, some things crack the foundations of our assumed world so deeply that nothing can ever be normal again. Not even a new routine can feel stable once we’ve genuinely felt how ephemeral our own presence really is. I used to go out every weekend. Now I’m thankful that the baby shit I clean at 3:00 in the morning means I can look forward to two full hours of sleep before Isla screams me awake. She was promised two parents, but got one. Nine pounds and thirteen ounces felt like more than I could carry, but it’s amazing what we’re capable of doing when we have no other choice. Without knowing who was listening, I prayed for a new normal. It found me – or at least its closest facsimile did – and I focused on the things within my control, because that’s the only way to prevent insanity. I slept when my daughter did. The same was true for crying. I learned that motherhood means acting confident in your ability to make things up as you go along. Then I heard the whispering. I’m a light sleeper now, so any noises coming from the baby monitor rattle me. This time was different, though; Isla wasn’t crying, but *some*one was talking. I didn’t realize what ‘fear’ meant until I was racing down the hall, wondering who would be waiting on the other side of my child’s bedroom door. I was terrified of opening it, but my entire body was on autopilot and didn’t even slow down. I burst it open and found- Nothing. Isla was alone in her crib, just as I’d left her. I stepped toward her, hands and arms trembling, as the moon bathed her crib in pale light. When I stood over her, I saw that Isla was staring at me. She had been the whole time. She was smiling. “Hi, Mama.” My stomach fell to the floor as I grabbed the crib for support. This was *impossible*. Of course I wanted to hear those words, but no three-week-old was capable of speech. I was either hallucinating or dreaming; there was no other possibility. “Daddy’s dead.” I almost collapsed. This felt too real. It *was* real. Isla’s lips moved, clean and articulate, like she was an adult. Nothing about this made sense. I wanted to be happy for her, but it was too weird. Too *wrong*. I didn’t want to go through this alone in my baby’s dark bedroom at night. I looked at my daughter, hoping she didn’t know that she made me afraid, and realizing that somehow she did. I tried to form words, but my mouth didn’t work. I felt like every muscle had frozen, crystalline, in place. “Daddy’s dead because someone cut his throat open with a knife.” I fell to the ground. Every joint felt like hot wax; I wanted to vomit through my eyes. I’m not proud of the fact that I left her alone, but I was sure that no one else was in the room. I would have died for Isla there and then if necessary; but, in the absence of a threat, I had to retreat. So I crawled, hand over hand, through the hallway and into my room. I lacked the energy to climb back into bed. So I curled into the fetal position, clutching the edge of my blanket and focusing on breathing. Sometimes, that’s all you can do. I stared at the moon and wondered who might be looking back, because *some*one was watching. How else could Isla have known that I [killed my husband](https://www.facebook.com/P-F-McGrail-181784199029462/)? [BD](https://www.reddit.com/r/ByfelsDisciple/) [W](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcn_pa1QfNMRzbTuJqXSoRQ) [E](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/)

Eaten

xzeni2

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzeni2/eaten/

Document notes:  Account comes to me in the form of a witness statement, and if the header is to be believed, from the Killaloe Ontario Provincial Police department. Fairly local. I don't recall this incident when it happened but a cursory web search uncovers several news articles about a bear attack in the Madawaska Valley that claimed the lives of a small group of young backpackers. According to this document, it wasn’t a bear that killed those kids. I’ve changed names and redacted sensitive information, including  phone numbers and addresses.  ​ “KILLALOE ONTARIO PROVINCIAL POLICE DEPARTMENT Date: Sunday, July 27, 2008. Time of incident: late evening to early morning of the 27th. Type of incident: wild animal attack. Please describe what you saw: I saw my friends dying. I saw a lot of blood. I saw a neat pile of guts on a stump. That one didn’t have any blood on it, actually, but I saw where one end of the intestines was packed with shit. I don’t think someone should have to see something like that. The insides of one of their friends just lying on a stump like a birthday cake. We were out camping for the weekend. It was me, Casey, Theo, Chantelle, and Sylvain. It was a nice time. Before, you know. The “animal attack.”  We wanted to backpack a little rougher that weekend. We’re pretty much broke so we used that as an excuse to have a bit more of a wild experience. Figured that the hiking would give us a little extra muscle in time for most of us to go to university. I was taping a going-away video for everyone, too, so I brought my camcorder. Me and Sylvain were both headed to Brock but I wanted to give everyone a DVD at the end of summer to remember the good times. So we bushwhacked to Brule lake. Even borrowed my dad's sat phone but with the cell towers they just put up I don’t know why we bothered. Brought a map and compass, too, but Chantelle had just gotten one of those iPhones with the huge screen so she just used that as a GPS. We found the lake just fine. Swam a bunch. Fished a little. Drank some beers. Blasted some music. God, when I write it all down I feel like a chick from a slasher. Titties out and wearing a sign that says “kill me!” We’ve all done plenty of time in the woods, though. For fuck’s sake, I was in scouts, and if there’s an institution that drills a more insufferably fussy set of camping habits into your brain then I’d love to see it! I had us set up with a pully for hanging our food and garbage, I had us a latrine dug, I had us four pairs of pantyhose for draining the solids out of our grey water and I even had a really old can of bear mace from one of my friends that works with the Ministry of Natural Resources. It was expired but I figured it couldn’t hurt. We knew what we’re doing and we were being safe. We hiked out Friday at lunchtime and got there mid-afternoon, set up camp, did our stuff, hung out, whatever. Overnight was fine, probably heard the normal amount of wildlife you hear near a lake but didn’t really see anything much bigger than a chipmunk.  Second night... second night also started fine. Chantelle went to bed early but me, Casey, Theo and Sylvain stayed up around the fire and just talked about school. We wanted to finish the rest of the beers so we wouldn’t have to carry the liquid weight out, and Chantelle usually wore earplugs to sleep so we didn’t worry too much about keeping really quiet. I got the idea that I'd have everyone around the fire tell her something like “don’t worry, we’re going to school but we’ll come back to this crappy little town all the time because we love you so much!” I don’t think her folks could afford college or anything so, yeah, hence the fancy little iPhone as a consolation prize, I think. We ran low on firewood eventually so I went to scrounge a little more and brought my camera to see if I could get a nice shot of the lake in moonlight. Theo followed me out that way too for just about the same reason, he wanted to get a nice view of the lake in moonlight while he took a leak. We separated somewhere along the shore, I got my shot of the lake, and I didn’t see him alive again. I was heading back and picking up some pieces of deadwood as I went. I was goofing around with taping myself doing some lame tricks with the bits of wood so I was taking my time and being loud, laughing and stuff. I was pretty tipsy at that point. I thought I heard Theo coming back from his piss break so I called out to him to get some sticks and start, I dunno, juggling them or something for the camera, but I don’t see him when I look through the trees.  I call out for him. I’m thinking he maybe forgot his flashlight and he’s wandering around a little lost so I step off the really light path we had going from our camp to the water and look around for him. Nothing. So I figure I’d just heard a raccoon or something moving around the woods and he’s already made it back to the fire without me. I turn around to do the same and I realize I can’t see the fire from where I am. Now that’s already crazy to me. I didn’t go that far and I am seriously not so drunk that I'd lose my way like that. So then I remember, duh, the fire went out, you are literally out here to collect firewood, don’t freak out. So I start walking a little ways in the direction I *know* the campsite was. Nothing. Okay. No big deal. I reorient myself to the moon, which was rising on the far side of the lake literally five minutes ago when I got my footage, and start walking towards that. I start freaking out a little then because it was taking a *lot* longer than five minutes and I didn’t even catch a glimpse of the lake through the trees, even though I could feel the downslope to the shore. So I smarten up and stop, get ready to have everyone back at camp laugh at me for getting lost, and am just about to call out when I see it. That stump. The one with a pile of intestines and a bag that I think was Theo’s stomach just sitting on top of it as neat as you please. The breath goes outta me. First I think I’m looking at parts of a dead deer or something. Hell, for all I know maybe it was and Theo is still out there. I’m looking at this pile and I see its *steaming.* I realize I can *smell* it. I’m still thinking it’s a deer at that point, but I knew that something pulled the thing apart so I drop my camcorder and most of the wood. I have my survival knife in one hand, a big piece of wood from my pile the other, and I’m looking around with my headlamp in case the bear or coyote or wolf is still around. I’m out there on high alert and I hear panting from somewhere in the trees. Dog panting. Coyote or wolf panting. I have my eyes everywhere. I know I should start yelling to get my friends attention and to frighten away whatever is making the sound but I’m so scared. I can smell that pile of guts and another on top of that, a thick, fishy stink and it’s getting worse. I back into a tree and the panting is so loud. I turn around and it *was* a tree I bumped into but there’s something standing right behind it with half it’s face staring out at me. I’m so close that I don’t even see the edges of it’s head in the circle of light from my headlamp. One yellow eye glares back at me from a wall of fur. It doesn’t even blink when the light hits it. The pupil is so dark. The thing behind the tree doesn’t move but I fall to my knees anyway and just stare at the ground at it’s feet. It’s breath is like a waterfall and it’s so, so cold. It washes down my throat through my open mouth and I think I start crying but I stay silent. My eyes stay down. It’s front feet are dug into the leaf litter like tree roots. They’re flexing and kneading the earth and I know one swipe would open me up. I hear saliva snapping above me and I know the grin I glimpsed on my way down to my knees has turned into an open maw. It lowers it’s long snout until I can see its front teeth and tongue and lips and it starts speaking to me in a low, buzzing growl. It’s tongue flickers over it’s teeth and there are huge engorged ticks crusted around the strip of skin where coarse dark fur transitions to the pebbled surface of it’s nose. Saliva drips from its mouth and I see small animal bones captured in each drop like bugs in amber. It’s been talking but I don’t have the shape of the words. I knew I was going to be killed and eaten by this thing the second I came face-to-face with it, that this short moment between being spotted and being torn apart was just an appetizer. That’s why it so carefully draped the least edible parts of Theo on the stump for me to see. It wants me to marinate. Like a nice piece of meat. While I wait for the teeth to close around my neck I start getting a notion. Not even a thought, just an impression. That maybe I can appease it. Do a little dance as I slide down it’s throat. That even though I’m caught, I’m dead, I’m eaten, I can still somehow earn just the faintest touch of mercy from it if I just... do something to amuse it. So I did. I got to my feet and it stopped speaking. It just stared and grinned and panted. It panted so fast you’d think it was dying. I walked back to camp. I felt it right behind me the entire time. At the edge of the trees I had another one of those notions so I took off all my clothes and put them into a pile. I walked up to the firepit with my three friends and the embers of our campfire and I killed them all with my buck knife. It was no trouble. I went into Chantelle’s tent after that and I killed her too. It watched me from the edge of camp. It had found a tree to stand behind and watch with only one eye. It panted. It grinned. After they were all dead I walked to the lake and waded out to my neck and stayed there until dawn. It watched me from the shore until it wasn’t anymore. Then I put all my clothes back on and walked out of the woods. I did it. I killed my friends at Brule Lake. I did it because I thought it might amuse the thing from the woods. Now I want you to lock me up. I’m guilty. And I’m still somewhere in it’s mouth. Alive. But just waiting for it to bite down." ​ ​ ​ ​ Closing notes: Signatures, dates, a declaration of the statement being the whole truth and nothing but the truth followed the above. The witness is still alive. I found her in a maximum-security mental hospital but I’ve been unable to reach her for any comments on the case, nor the families of those involved. The police are also no help at all. They say this was just a particularly brutal animal attack and the lone, traumatized survivor has been institutionalized. To pry further might compromise my... privacy so I’m left alone wondering whether or not the investigators truly believe the story they told the press. I wonder if the witness’s camcorder was recovered and if it stayed recording through the attack. The things I would do get my hands on it.

I was sent to the wrong type of jail

xyftnw

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyftnw/i_was_sent_to_the_wrong_type_of_jail/

I was moved from county jail in October of 2016, following my conviction for armed robbery. I’m not here to garner sympathy, but I want to be clear on a couple of things; this was an unfair sentence. Not in the usual “innocent man put in jail” type of shlock, but in the way that they were clearly pushing me towards being put in a particular jail. I had my blood tested, and my hair was sent to a lab. They took pictures of my fingernails. I’d never seen anything like it, but I was basically catatonic; I was in a bad place. Wanted it all to just be over. At the time, I didn’t think much about the processing. I didn’t think about the records that were passed between the guards and doctors, and I didn’t care much about the blue rubber stamps that were put at the base of every signed legal document. I didn’t know what was normal and what wasn’t. I just wanted to get into the haze and no-brain the next six or so years away. ​ I was put in a cell with Lian Soon, a Chinese American man. To this day, I don’t have the slightest idea what he was in for. Guy looked like your average college kid, but there was just something off about him. He just had this look of complete dissociation, like he was miles away. He never really looked at you; it was as if he looked straight through you. Then again, a lot of inmates get that. I barely managed to talk to him in the first few days. We agreed that I took the top bunk, but that was pretty much all we managed to talk about. We had a straightforward schedule. Breakfast and work up ‘til 11, lunch, more work, some yard time, dinner. After that, we either got to our specialized programming time (religious services, NA, anger management, etc) or an extra hour in the yard. Then back in the cell, lights out by 11. In my first few days, I had to go through a lot of orientation. There were the kind of who’s-who introductions you might expect, but also just someone pointing to which shelf they stock the detergent. Basic stuff. ​ I got a job cleaning the beddings. They were so cheap that a firm enough poke would go straight through ‘em, like a piece of paper. Washing them was basically putting them in a shredder. We had to go on such a low setting that they rarely ever got clean. I swear I saw a cockroach in one of the pillowcases once, and the damn thing was still alive after the wash and dry. The pillows were also crap. They ripped easily, and feathers would get stuck to everything. Probably wasn’t a room in this whole facility without feathers littering the floor. Hell, they were even in the yard. Most of them were, in fact. We’d have rotating schedules, so I rarely got to work with the same people two days in a row. I started to recognize a few faces, but people mostly kept to themselves. There was no locker room talk, no braggarts, no bravado; just people hunkering down and shutting up. But even early on, I noticed something was off. I think it all came down to the yard. ​ People stayed away from the prison yard. No one used the exercise equipment. People just stuck to the walls, or silently walked by the fences. There were no loud conversations, no sports, nothing. And as soon as that free hour was up, people were pushing to get back in. From day one, I got the impression that the yard was a bad place to be, but no one was telling me why. What kind of prison has dust on the free weights? By the end of the first week, I’d started to get into the routine. I was out cold by 10 most nights. Hell, I had the bedding with the least holes in ‘em, might as well use that luxury. But there was that one night when I just couldn’t sleep. I’d lay down, and then all of a sudden I’d be wide awake. There was this whistling wind that came down the hall, and it just kept echoing in the back of my head. At first it was a wind, then a whistle. And with no other sound around, it kept growing in my head until it sounded like a goddamn fire truck siren. I’d push my hands against my ears, cover my head in a pillow, but it didn’t do a thing. Finally, I just started to mutter to myself; just to fill the air with some other noise. “Please stop,” I’d whisper. “Please stop.” And the funny thing? It did. It stopped. ​ The next day, I was exhausted. I kept nodding off. Breakfast, lunch, dinner… pretty much anytime I could sit down. The guards would push me awake, and the other inmates just sort of stared at me. Some of them actively avoided me, like there was something wrong with me. When it was time for the yard, the guards took me aside and asked me to help clean the common area. No yard time for me, gotta sweep some feathers. That night, I went to bed as soon as I could. But the moment my head hit that pillow I was wide awake again. And down through the hall, there was that howling wind. There was no way for me to sleep. The sound just kept growing, and all my tiredness was just… gone. Whispering didn’t work anymore; I had to speak out loud. Around midnight, I was still awake. I was just lying there, talking to myself. Putting words to the random thoughts in the back of my head to keep my mind occupied. Anything to drown out that awful droning noise outside. I couldn’t let it grow further. It was like trying to stop a ship from sinking, one bucket of water at a time. I don’t have the slightest idea how Lian tolerated it, but he didn’t say a word. ​ Things just got worse. I couldn’t sleep that entire night, so when it was time to get up I could barely stand. I fell asleep brushing my teeth, dropping my toothbrush in the sink. I was so used to talking to myself by then that I’d blurt out whatever came to mind. I was sleep deprived, exhausted, and just… confused. And people took notice. There was this one guy, Marlin, who was about as new as I was. Short, athletic guy who was just itching for a fight. I accidentally bumped into him in the lunch queue, and he went off on me. Pushed me out of the line, bashed me over the face with a tray, and just started whaling on me. The guards were taking their sweet time, so I just had to take it. But I couldn’t. There was just something in me that wanted to hurt this guy. I grabbed his shirt and looked him in the eyes. “You wanna get whipped, greenie?” I said. “You want us to whip you?” I don’t know where the words came from. It was just the first thing that came to mind, and the sleep deprivation just forced it out of my mouth like a hiccup. “W-what… what did you say?” he stammered. “I asked if the little greenie wanted a whipping.” He backed off. His jaw went slack as he just stared at me, unblinking. Just as I’d found words out of nowhere, he’d lost them. His eyes teared up as he backed himself up against a wall. The prison guards came up to restrain us, and I could see all the fight had run out of him. “See you at the orchard, greenie,” I added. “Whip whip!” Marlin broke down. He screamed, tears running out of his eyes. He dropped to the floor, and the guards had to carry him out. I thought I’d feel good after that. But the way everyone was staring at me made me feel like a museum exhibit. I had this sickeningly wide smile painted on my face; but it wasn’t mine. None of this was me. I was losing control, and it scared the hell out of me. I was a puppet. ​ That night, I didn’t even bother trying to sleep. I knew that as soon as I’d lay down to try, I’d just be wide awake again. Instead, I tried sleeping on my feet, or sitting on the floor. This time, Lian couldn’t ignore me. He sat up on his bed, looking at me, instead of through me. “You on something?” he asked. “You itchin’?” “Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “Just… broken. Something’s not right.” “You phobic? Trouble with the walls?” “Maybe, I-I… I dunno. Can’t sleep.” ”Looks like you sleep all the time, just not in here.” “Yeah,” I sighed. “Yeah, that’s about right.” “They stamp you when you got here? You got any stamps?” “Some, yeah. Blue ones.” “Everyone gets blue ones. What shape?” “Dunno,” I shrugged. ​ Lian took a long look at me. In those few dragging seconds, I could hear the wind outside growing louder, and I winced. I groaned to drown out the noise, but it was barely working. I might have to scream to keep it together for another night. “They got two stamps,” he said. “A hand, and a sunflower. You sure you don’t know which one you got?” “Which did you get?” I asked. “What do they mean?” “I got the hand,” he said. “Most of us did. No idea what it means, but the sunflowers are always a bit…” He pointed at me, as to make a point. “Maladaptive.” “Private prisons,” I chuckled. “Bullshit, all of it.” Lian leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Sorting us into flowers and hands like a goddamn daycare. Probably got a woodchuck and dolphin stamp too.” ​ Lian was out like a light, but as expected, I couldn’t sleep. I paced back and forth, screamed into a pillow, and tried massaging my ears. The scratching noise sort of helped, but I still found myself restless. Finally, I got out of bed and pressed my head against the door. Maybe if I let the wind howl, it’ll take pity on me. Maybe it would get to a point where it’d either kill me, or stop. I didn’t care which, as long as something happened. But the strangest thing came to me. As I pressed my head against the door, the sound became clearer. The wind softened to a whistle, and then a gentle hum. The more I tried to lean into it, to listen, the more beautiful it became. Right there, leaning against the door, I had the best sleep of my entire life. ​ The next morning, Lian pulled me up as the guards did their rounds. I’d slept all through the night, and I felt amazing. But even then and there, at my best, I could hear a little piercing sound. That wind, that whisper, was still in the back of my mind; even now during daytime. But all I had to do was lean into it, to listen, and a wave of calm would wash over me. It worried me how easy it was. “You got through it?” Lian asked. “I’m getting there.” ​ I wasn’t paying much attention during breakfast. I was zoned out, listening to what’d turned into a melody. Something was speaking to me, but not through words. Through emotions, and sensation. So it wasn’t a word that warned me about Marlin creeping up on me with a sharpened toothbrush. It wasn’t the guards, or the other inmates. No, it was something in the back of my mind screaming at me to hurt him. So I did. ​ All I heard was laughter. There was this alien joy springing up in my chest, forcing me to my feet. I remember turning around, and the world looking different. I felt four feet taller. I was looking into Marlin’s eyes. But I didn’t see him; I saw a teenage kid running through an orchard, hunted by his older brothers who wanted to beat him with a tire iron. “Whip whip!” When I came to, I was still laughing. It wasn’t my own laugh, and neither was the joy. The howling wind was finally quiet, but I felt like a stranger in my own body. I couldn’t feel my limbs, and it took me seconds just to orient myself. To remember my fingers, my feet, my eyes. Marlin was bleeding on the floor from a dozen wounds. Deep bruising, broken bones. Possibly brain damage from repeated hits to the side of the head. Involuntary twitching, like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing. Like me, he just couldn’t find the words. It looked like I’d beaten him with a goddamn tire iron. ​ I was taken back to my cell without a word, paraded through the halls like a prize. I could feel the other inmates staring at me, trying to figure me out. As soon as I looked their way, I saw them recoil. I don’t know what the hell they’d seen, but they were looking at me like a goddamn monster. I was locked in my cell for hours. No one was allowed in. And all the while, I kept hearing something in the back of my head, singing to me, asking me to listen just a little closer. And as soon as I resisted, that noise turned to pain. Within minutes, I was pacing the cell, spewing whatever nonsense came flooding through my mind. Nonsense about everything and everyone, just… noise. When the guards finally opened the door, I turned to them without skipping a beat. They had their tasers ready. “Deb doesn’t know if Eddy is really your son,” I rambled. “You think he was premature, but she had that time with Irvin at her job the month before. She thinks about telling you. She thinks that might just be the push you need to finally divorce.” A taser to the neck, and I didn’t even feel it. As I dropped to the floor in a spasm, my body was screaming with laughter. “He had her on the copier! She didn’t even think about you! She hoped to see him there again the next week!” And there, somewhere deep inside, I found my own thoughts and words; standing by as someone else held the reins. I wanted to tear my ears out, to make it all go away, but I couldn’t even move my hands. I’d listened too long, and too closely, and now the guards were dragging me by the neck. ​ They took me out to the yard. I heard them talking. They were standing next to me, carrying me, but it still sounded like they were in another room. I could barely make out their voices. “Hatchetmen mixed up the bloodworks,” they said. “Got the wrong class.” “Shit, we got a bloomer? We had a bloomer this whole time?” “It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle he didn’t pop his cellie.” “So why we takin’ him out?” “Just making sure. Protocol.” “Fuck protocol.” “Fuck off.” ​ They left me in the middle of the yard, lining up in a circle around me. The guard I’d been yelling at stayed inside, weeping over a picture. After a few minutes, I felt a tingle in my hands. It felt like being poured back into my body, like my mind was a liquid. It all came back to me, one thing at a time. Language, memories, senses. Choice. Suddenly, I was standing up. The wind was clearer out in the open. It was colder than expected, and I wasn’t even wearing my shoes. There was a stillness in the air, but there was something menacing to it. Like the eye of a storm. “Nothing’s happening!” I heard. “We take him in?” “Hold on. Look up.” ​ From afar, it looked like snow. I didn’t even question it. Snow in mid-July? Sure. Why not. But it wasn’t snow. A white feather touched my nose. I looked up into the clouds. And there, far above, I saw something looking back. I can’t explain what I felt at that moment. It felt like I was looking into an eye in the sky, an impossible physical being, but there was nothing there. And yet, it spoke through me; like playing a mind-game of charades with myself. Pictures flashing in the back of my mind, trying to reach an understanding. Hundreds of memories pounding at the front of my brain every second, like a pitcher being filled up and spilling over the edge. I got a nosebleed trying to keep up. My eyes rolled back, but I still felt like I was looking up. It was easier to see with my eyes closed. My mouth seized up from trying to find a thousand words at once, instead settling on noises and grunts. There were parts that were crystal clear. It showed me memories I didn’t know I had. It showed me my eyes opening for the first time, little hands grabbing my mother’s cardigan. Her big 80’s glasses making her eyes look like a cartoon. It showed me up waking in my crib, reaching for the little toys dancing overhead. And I understood what it meant; that we were born with this instinctual drive to reach beyond our means. To stretch towards the sky. To grab and pull down the unknown to us, making it a part of ourselves. That the most basic instinct of my being was meant to be here, to do this. To reach up. ​ “No,” I wheezed. All was silent. I looked down, as I floated six feet off the ground. ​ “No!” I groaned. Memories of long-lost dreams came rushing back. Pleasant thoughts you don’t want to wake from. Promise of love, lust, joy, and comfort. It was all there, just waiting for me to take it. All I had to do was reach for it. To reach into the sky, and take it. But there was something more. That eye in the sky, looking down at me. Not malevolent, not angry, not evil; just vast beyond comprehension. I was nothing more than a strand of wheat, being plucked into the air by a curious farmer. “No! No, no, no!” I screamed. They came running up to me. Guards grabbed my legs, pulling me down. It felt like I was being torn in half; part of me desperately reaching upwards, and my conscious self holding me to the ground. All the while, the pleasant silence was turning from a whisper to a scream. “We got it!” a guard yelled as the weather picked up. “Get him outta here! Get him-“ Something let go off me. The guard on my left lost his breath as he suddenly went limp. With nothing but a whistle, I saw him whisked into the sky. Not a word of protest, not a sound. Just a human life growing smaller and disappearing overhead. I dropped to the ground as they scrambled to get inside. Another guard fell flat on his stomach as something invisible grabbed his ankles. Again, a soft whistle, and he was gone. A spot in the dark. ​ “Run! Come on!” The other guards were standing by the entrance, holding the doors open. They were waving at me, desperate for me to just… run. But every part of me wanted to stay. To reach up. To touch the sky and go back to that place I was meant to be. To feel my mother’s cardigan between my baby-soft fingertips, and to look into the night sky with wonder of what could be. It was all there. And yet, my body knew to run. ​ The moment I got inside, I heard thumping. Chunks of meat sprayed across the yard, fragments of bone getting stuck in the barbed wire. Fabric torn into shreds. Whatever was up there was happy now, and the howling wind was silent. We all just stood there. I could barely breathe. I’d been so close to surrendering, to give into it. Whatever was up there had no intention of caring for me. There was no love, no joy, no comfort. All it could promise me was a swift death at best, or the life of a sleepless puppet. But for a moment, we all just stood there. We weren’t inmate and prison guards. In that moment we were just people, trying to understand ourselves. ​ I got processed the next day. They double-checked my blood. Turns out they’d contaminated my result; sloppy work from the esteemed people at Hatchet Biotechnica. This time, I saw them clearly stamp my papers. Blue ink, in the shape of a little sunflower. I was taken out of state. They said it was a matter of security, on account of getting in fights with Marlin. Apparently he’d broken both legs, and his shoulder. Still, I knew better. This wasn’t a matter of security; this was about fixing a grave mistake. This prison had a purpose, but I wasn’t part of it. ​ Instead, I did my time in a place with no wind, and now I’m out on parole. ​ To this day, I get a shiver up my spine when I hear the whistling wind. I’m scared of my dreams, of my memories. I’m afraid there’s still something in me that wants me to go back; to look up. My psychiatrist, doctor Bogan, tells me I’ve got an agoraphobic trauma to deal with. She says she has some kind of experimental treatment for it, but I don’t know. Overexposure therapy sounds dangerous. But even now, I find myself suddenly waking in the middle of the night. My body talking to itself. Telling truths I couldn’t possibly know to an empty room. Sometimes not even in my own language. Sometimes in no language at all. Every now and then, a white feather still lands on my shoulder. And I just know that looking up will be the end of me. Or the start.

I HAVE TO GET RID OF THIS GUITAR I FOUND [PART FIVE]

xyv5y7

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyv5y7/i_have_to_get_rid_of_this_guitar_i_found_part_five/

“I recently found a lead that might help in the search for my brother, William “Wills” Forte. A journal he had written, along with a cassette that was filled with what can only be described as very unusual field recordings. Kirk Hammett has agreed to quickly transpose the less complex portions of the cassette while keeping the integrity of the original field recordings intact. These you can play or loop alongside the reading of each part, to create the appropriate mood for these journal entries. We still advise you take precautions before listening to the recordings.” – Abigail Forte [PART ONE](https://www.reddit.com/user/Kirk-Hammett-Horrors/comments/xaq2m2/i_have_to_get_rid_of_this_guitar_i_found_part_one/) [PART TWO](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xgp3yy/i_have_to_get_rid_of_this_guitar_i_found_part_two/) [PART THREE](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xmw54i/i_have_to_get_rid_of_this_guitar_i_found_part/) [PART FOUR](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xsxtj2/i_have_to_get_rid_of_this_guitar_i_found_part_four/) PART FIVE: 40 Miles to Vegas \*[Music for Part Five](https://www.tiktok.com/@kirkhammett/video/7151462608611052843?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7152156056063690282)\* The rain had stopped. I knew a few of the people standing around the open grave, but not all. I had never met any of Cristopher’s family before, and I’m pretty sure none of them really wanted to meet me. The hole had been dug the night before and was now enclosed by a plastic ring that rose above the pit. There was a hill of dirt, also covered by the black plastic to the side of the hole, but where the grave was shielded from the mourner’s eyes, the mound was covered in plastic flowers. Celebrate what goes on top, not what lies beneath. I knew I should stay back, let the burial proceed and keep my place as a spectator, but I had to say a last farewell. I could sense Francis stiffening in disapproval behind me. Ignoring him, I moved forwards. The sky was dark, crows were gathering on the grass and graves around us, waiting for the storm. I peered over the plastic, expecting to see a coffin, expecting to be able to say goodbye to Cristopher, and instead I see another hallucination. His body, tortured, disfigured, pale and bloody and wrapped in torn white plastic. Most of the body covered, the plastic now dripping with the rain that has started to fall again, wisps of the wrap flicking across his face, his black hair plastered over his eyes, which open, showing nothing but blackness. I fall backwards, trying to scream, but unable to breathe, no sound escapes. I’m on the ground, shaking, rain falling on my face, still unable to make a sound, and I realize I’m looking up at grief-stricken faces, walls of dirt and earth moving up around me. I’m at the bottom of a freshly dug grave. I’m the one wrapped in plastic and unable to move. I’m the one trapped as Cristopher’s coffin is raised and moved over me, and slowly lowered upon me. I try to scream again. All I can see now is the bottom of the coffin, and all around me is a stench of wet dirt and rotting flowers, and then the coffin is dropped upon me with its dead body weight. \*\* I sit up fast, heart racing, head pounding. I’m in a car, seatbelt tight around me. I start to struggle. “Wills, it’s okay!” Octavia, driving, glances over at me. It takes a couple of seconds for me to get my bearings, and then it hits me, “The guitar! Where is the guitar!?” Octavia nodded, “Bad news. Corso tricked us. We need to get it back.” I stare out the window, the passing scenery unfamiliar, and I’m feeling a bit queasy. How long was I out? I look over at Octavia, and for the first time she looks worried. She sees my concern, “I’m fine. You, however, are not. You’ve been drifting in and out ever since we left the motel. At least you’re still with us, so the guitar is still connected to you. The distance has got to be affecting you though.” "Us?" I ask and feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump, startled. “It’s just me, relax.” It’s Abbie. I shift in my seat to look back at her. “How did you get here?” I ask. “You don’t remember?” She says, surprised. “No, I got pretty much nothing after the Detective showed me that picture...” My father. It’s not possible. I can remember the last time I saw him, and I remember he looked the same as he looked in the photograph. He hadn’t aged a day. Which wasn’t possible. Then I looked at Octavia, one hand on the wheel, her left arm crooked and hanging out the window, and I realize there’s a lot of nutty stuff going on in my life that’s not possible. “Why was my dad at the bar? What was he doing there?” Octavia is silent for a moment, and then answers softly, “As far as I can tell, he’s the one who planted the pick that brought the Ekimmu to your whereabouts. I didn’t tell you then, but two of those bodies we found were no longer human, just emptied out shells. I think your father removed the demons from their hosts and placed the pick where you found it. That’s not something a mere mortal can do easily, so I’m also thinking your father may no longer be who you think he is.” I nod and turn to look out the window, not wanting anyone to see how freaked out I was feeling. “So, where are we going and ... where the hell are we?” “We’re getting close to Grand Junction, about halfway to Vegas.” Octavia tells me. “The detective and his ... friend” she continued, with a hint of disdain, “Are meeting us there.” Abbie chimes in, “I came by your room last night. I was going to try to convince you to let me come along, but I didn’t really have to. Octavia thought it would be a good idea, and she filled me in.” “She told you everything?” I ask. “Never everything, darling, but enough.” Octavia replied with a wink. “But just so we’re all on the same page here, Corso made a deal with your Mr. Velvét..." According to Octavia, while Corso and other demons cannot wield the powers of the guitar while it is connected to me, there is nothing to stop it from being played by another human. If Corso can show Harry which notes to play, and with a little blood and sacrifice, it is possible to redirect the curse. That would allow Corso to use the guitar against Mael, which is all he really wants. The only problem with this scenario is that I end up dead. “Worse than dead, actually...” Octavia says. “Not helping.” I can feel the guitar pulling at my insides. I know it’s only going to get more and more unpleasant until that thing is in my hands again. I glance back at my sister, “And tell me why it’s a good idea that you’re here?” “Wills, it’s because our father is involved. Look, I’m not saying you haven’t had things to deal with, but you didn’t have to deal with mom. He has to be accountable for what he did to our family, and that’s that.” She was right. “But watch it, this is serious business. You listen to us, and don’t try anything stupid.” I said sternly. “Oh, look who’s finally playing the part of the big brother.” Abbie snorted. “You still have the gris-gris bag?” “Yeah,” I say, patting my pocket. “Let me see that.” Octavia says. I dig it out and hand it to her. Still driving, she holds it in her right hand, as if weighing it. “This is a good one.” She glances at Abbie in the rear-view mirror, sniffs the bag. “You made this?” “No, our mom did.” “I’m impressed. Seems like there’s strong juju in your bloodline, Wills. Must be part of what attracted the Asag to you.” “Asag?” Abbie asks. I look back at her. “The demon in the guitar.” I watched all the blood drain from her complexion as she sits back in her seat. I can tell it’s slowly dawning upon her. This isn’t just us looking for a guitar. There’s some real evil shit going down, and we are all in danger. Octavia is still holding the bag. She hands it back to me. “It doesn’t affect you?” I ask. “I can feel its power, but I’m not challenging it. It’s protecting you. I’m not a threat, at the moment.” She flashes a quick grin. “I’m pretty sure it’s helping you deal with the distance of the guitar. Without it you might be experiencing even worse flashes." We pull into a parking lot in front of an old diner. “We’ve still got about seven hours before we hit Las Vegas, and I’m betting you won’t want to stop again.” Octavia says, “So here’s your last chance coffee stop.” The three of us head into the diner. Abbie and I following Octavia. The doors are open, it’s bright inside, music is playing, but emptiness ... there’s no people. I notice an unpleasant but now familiar stench, like blood and rotting meat. Octavia stops suddenly, “this isn’t right.” I agree, “Abbie, get back to the car.” “But...” Now.” I insist, turning around and pointing her back outside. That’s when I saw an old beat-up yellow ford pickup pull out from behind the diner and drive away. The same vintage 50’s Ford that my dad used to drive. I couldn’t tell who was driving, but felt my stomach drop, “It’s a trap!” “Yeah, I had a feeling.” Octavia was looking at the door that led to the kitchen. It was swinging open slowly, but the thing coming out was definitely not our waiter. At least not anymore. Behind me I heard Abbie start to scream, while in front of me I watched Octavia transform into a more demonic form of herself. Her arms elongated slightly, her fingers stretching, nails sharpening. Her neck seemed to stretch up a few inches while something moved under her jacket, like her shoulder blades were trying to push out of her body. “What is it?” I asked, my voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “One of those Ekimmus?” “No, this is a younger demon.” Octavia stops, lifts her head up, smelling the air. Her arms move back behind her, almost crossing. Long, stretched out, sharp and ready to strike. “But dangerous. A Nalai.” “Nalai?” Abagail whispers, beside me now. “Abbie,” I hiss. “Get out of here!” But it was too late. The creature moved with a sudden burst of unbelievable speed, its wide gaping mouth drooling a blackish liquid. It had wings, unfurling like a bat attacking. I thought it was going for Octavia, but it swooped up and over, before diving down towards me... No... My sister! I had seconds to react. I pushed her aside, ignoring her shout of protest. She fell between a couple of tables and the creature, horrible claws outstretched, missed her, but the talons scraped along my inner arm in passing. The scratches burned as if flames had sliced my skin. The thing turned, wings scraping the floor like nails on a chalkboard, then dove back towards us. Reaching about for anything that might be used as a weapon, I grabbed a handful of silverware from the countertop, and let it all drop to the floor except for a knife. As it flew towards me, I fell to my knees. Screaming from the pain in my arms I held the knife up steady, cutting into the creature’s belly as it passed above me. It let out a screech that made me drop the knife and cover my ears. I saw Abbie doing the same, now cowering behind the counter. The thing careened across the diner, its black blood splattering and squirting everywhere as it crashed through the serving hatch into the back. Octavia, however, did not seem to be affected like we were. She dove after the creature, her body slimming and elongating as it moved through the narrow space above the counter into the kitchen. I moved fast. I help Abbie up and half pulling her, half dragging her, we make it out to the car. “What the hell is going on? What the hell is that thing, and what the hell is that other thing you call Octavia?” Abbie yells at me as I practically push her into the car. “Demons. That’s all I got right now.” I mutter as I try to get the car started. I’m expecting explosions, fire, screams, blood... But there’s just a quiet stillness followed by a slight breeze blowing by, then Octavia walks out of the diner talking to a young woman. She’s wearing a long flowy black dress, and long black hair with flowing streams of white. Octavia looks up and waves, and I pause my frantic efforts as they approach the car. “Wills, we’ve got company.” Octavia says. We rearrange our seating positions, so Octavia is behind the wheel, the black-haired woman is next to her, and me and my sister are in the back. The woman turns around, and with a smile and a short wave says, “You can call me Mag.” Up close I can see long scars along her arms, and dark patches of what looks like dried blood on her dress. “Are you...” I look at the diner then back at Mag. “The creature that attacked you? Yes.” She turns to face forwards as Octavia pulls out towards the interstate. My sister and I both lean back, look at each other, mouths agape, then glare at the woman in the passenger seat. “Octavia?” I say, both curious and suspicious. “Mag is a Nalai, a sort of ... vampire, I guess? And this was definitely a set-up.” Octavia says. “She’s sorry. Mag? say you’re sorry.” Mag nods but doesn’t turn around. Her hand is clutching the door handle tight. Is this demon afraid? As if reading my thoughts, she speaks. Quietly and quickly. “I hate cars. Don’t trust them. I usually travel alone, at night. Flying. I am sorry about earlier. I didn’t know who you were, but I was told you were here to destroy me. Hunt me. The Succubus tells me you are not. It was the other human. It smelled like you, but different. Something darker, broken...” “Mag, it’s okay. We’re good.” Octavia reaches over, putting a hand on her shoulder. “So why did you attack Abbie?” I ask, leaning forwards. “I didn’t mean to. It was supposed to be you. But there was a wall. A protection. I couldn’t get to you. I was pushed off course. A mistake.” “The gris-gris bag.” Abbie whispered. She looked a little more together, though I could tell this was still making her uncomfortable. “It worked. It stopped her from getting to you.” “Why is my father trying to kill me?” I demanded. “It has to do with the guitar,” Octavia said. “And the way the curse moves. If you die before the curse runs its course, then the curse moves to another in your bloodline before it would move to someone else. If it was your father’s guitar, yet you now are the carrier of it, by all rights he should be dead. But now, if your father kills you and gets the guitar, I suppose he will also inherit the malediction attached to it.” “You say the guitar goes through cycles of six, but when I found it, there were already two figures on it. So I’m finishing something he started? And now he wants to kill me? But why would he want to do that?” I wonder. “Because he’s making a trade.” Abbie whispers, staring down at her hands, held tightly in her lap. “What?” Everyone turns to look at her, the car swerves, Octavia looks back at the road. “I didn’t want to upset you. It was years after you left. I told you Mom was keeping her eye on you, from a distance. When you got in trouble, with the drugs, she knew. I’m not sure how, but you know mom. She always had a way of knowing things. It was you and your friend.” Abbie said. “Cristopher.” I said softly. “Yeah, Cristopher. I never saw dad after that last night, but I heard him. He called late one night. Mom was yelling at him, saying it was his fault you were a junkie, that you were gonna die far from home. That was when he told her. She got real quiet, then fell to the floor in tears. I ran to her.” “What did he tell her?” I asked. My sister kept her head down. “He said you were past saving, but your soul could’ve kept him alive. He said Cristopher took your place, and one day he would fix that mistake. That’s the trade, Wills, Cristopher for you.” The silence was deafening. Octavia drove, staring straight ahead. Mag, still with a white-knuckled grip on the armrest, stared out at the passing road. \*\* An hour later, not much has been said. We’re driving through Green River, Utah. I’m wishing for whiskey. Suddenly Mag reaches out, grabs Octavia’s arm and points towards an upcoming offramp. “We must go that way. There is something there. I can feel it. Something is calling. It is connected to the humans.” Octavia glances back at me, I shrug, “I don’t know, you think we can trust her? Seems like we’re all moving in the same direction, as long as we’re careful.” Octavia nods and turns, veering to the north. There’s nothing but dirt and desert, and even though it’s October, the car is heating up in the autumn sun. “Where are we going?” Abbie asks me quietly. “Not sure, but I bet it’s got something to do with dad.” Five minutes later Mag startles us, “Stop! Turn here.” We’re at a dusty little fork in the road. Bleak, no signs of life or of any other kind. “Are you sure?” I ask. Octavia gives me a little smile, “It’s a cemetery. I can smell it.” Of course. “Why’s it always gotta be cemeteries?” I mutter to myself. We drive up, and suddenly we see a small square of heat dusted graves. It’s death in the middle of the desert, a dead cemetery in a ghost town. We get out of the vehicle. “Why are we here?” Abbie whispers to me. “I’m not sure...” I reply. “Because the other one, the one who shares your blood, is here.” Mag proclaims as she sets a steady pace towards the center of the cemetery. “Dad?” Abbie’s voice quivers as she grabs my arm. From out of nowhere a wind picks up, pushing us, as if it was trying to get us to follow Mag deeper into the dead dust square. We form a strange lineup, the wind blowing at our backs, the sands whipping up tiny dust devils above the burial plots. Octavia, the Succubus, her red hair a sharp contrast to dull earth tones surrounding us. Me and my sister, with a family overflowing with curses and superstitions, and Mag, a demonic vampire creature from another time. Ready to face what ... my father? The wind stops, everything stops. The world is silent, but the heat continues to rise. I feel sweat beading up on my forehead, droplets running down the side of my face. Heatwaves rising off the land around us gives off the illusion that we are all standing inside some strange mirage. And out of that mirage he appears, as if he parted invisible curtains and stepped through them. A tall angular silhouette shifting between sunlight and shadow. Abbie takes a sharp deep breath but says nothing. Octavia and Mag remain silent as well. I can’t. “Samuel.” I spit, knowing he hated when I didn’t call him dad. This time, however, there seems to be only a glint of annoyance in his eyes. He spat on the ground and directed his Gaze at Mag. “I guess you failed your task.” “If my task was a lie, then I did not fail. But you lie about something else as well.” Mag says, moving her hands in strange patterns, her fingers twitching, as if pulling strings in the air. “You are not human like this one.” She points to me, and her eyes widen, as if she suddenly realized what he really was. He gave a dismissive shrug and glared at me and my sister. “You weren’t supposed to be here. Either of you. You’re making this whole thing more difficult than it should be.” “Did you kill Cristopher?” I said between clenched teeth. He didn’t answer, I took a step forward, ignoring Octavia’s quiet warning and Abbie’s hand on my shoulder. Again, but louder; “Did you kill Cristopher?” He smiled than, a hideous, horrible smile. “He killed himself, son. It was his choice. I woulda preferred it was you that had gone to the guitar. But now I can make that right.” Octavia was suddenly standing in front of me, her eyes flashing brighter than the desert sun. “Not without a fight.” My father laughed. “Why are you doing this?” Abbie shouted from behind me. “What do you want from us?” “Everything, my girl. Everything.” He pauses for a second, stares up at the sun. I notice he doesn’t blink or shield his eyes, just looks straight into that thing, and then he focuses that unblinking stare directly at me. “It was never about the guitar, boy, though that is what carries the power. I made a deal with the Asag, and I need to keep my end of the bargain.” “What kind of deal?” I asked, horrified at what I was hearing. “There’s nothing those demons like more than devouring a solid bloodline, and it had already taken your grandpa as well as mine, so I promised, I swore, it would get you as well. In exchange I would be allowed to stay out for a few more years. Maybe a hundred, if I can swing it. It loves sacrifice, boy, and you — you are supposed to be mine.” “So why are you trying to kill me out here?” I asked, against a strange mix of terror, anger, and bewilderment. “Oh, I’m not trying to kill you. Not yet. I’m trying to hold you back. That guitar is holding my soul hostage, right up there above the bridge. But since Corso has the guitar, I’m hoping he’ll kill that other demon, good ol’ Mael, or they’ll kill each other. There are just too many creatures playing with my future right now.” “And Cristopher?” I shout. “Cristopher jumped in, gave himself up for you. He’s gone, but if I deliver you and your sister, I’ll get my soul back and I’ll get to play guitar for a long, long time. So, I’m just letting things play out as they do.” He stopped to glance at Octavia, “You however, I don’t need to keep alive.” A few rows of graves away, behind my father, something shivers and grows. A thick dark tendril like a snake made of smoke curled around the edges. Just one, then two, then finally eight undulating tentacles. They push through the dust and the dirt, curling around my father’s legs as if they’re pets pushing against him. Showing affection, or perhaps waiting for dinner. He takes a step towards us, his lips cracking into that horrid smile again. Stained teeth showing underneath, as if he was also ready to eat. Without hesitation Octavia leaps towards him, and surprisingly Mag follows. The two demons flying past my father and going straight for the thing creeping out of the grave. They both were transforming as they moved, shapes shifting, muscles ripping and limbs stretching, sharp things becoming sharper, and from behind both of them, wings appearing. Thin batlike and leathery appendages spreading out then curving back. It was like a scene from some Horror Western film. “Showdown at fucked-up corral.” I mutter and step backwards, pulling Abbie with me, thinking it might be a good idea to retreat towards the car. My father isn’t paying attention to us, distracted by two she-creatures attacking a mess of tentacles. Then suddenly I’m down on my knees, clutching my stomach and feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut. Abbie grabs my arm, tries to help me up, but the pain is keeping me down and doubled over. “The guitar.” I manage to say, “Something’s happening with it...” I glance up and see my father in almost the same position as I am. Down on the ground, face contorted into an almost mirror image of pain. Behind him Octavia and Mag grapple with a growing bulbous mass of shifting darkness. As it stretches out over the cemetery in all directions its dark tendrils wrap around the succubus and the vampire-demon, pulling and stretching. Through my pain blurred vision I see the tentacles tear at Octavia’s wings, breaking through the membrane. She lets out a shriek of pain and falls to the ground. Mag darts and dives fast towards her, but not fast enough. A thick pulsating mass shoots out and grabs her by the legs, pulling her back towards the center of the shadow. Mag disappears, screaming, into the nothingness that seems to be swallowing the ground around it. Octavia stands and lunges at the thing, her claws ripping through it, sending shards of shadow flying around her. Her pain is covered by shouts of rage and anger, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. A wing is torn off and black blood mixes with shadow, and then she’s yelling, shouting at me. Warning me. Now that the tentacles no longer have to deal with two demons a couple of them are slithering through the dirt towards Abbie and me. I can barely move through the pain, but Abbie pulls me up and tries to lead me away from the approaching horror. Our dad seems to be faring better than I am and is hobbling towards us, chanting something in some unknown language. He’s gaining on us faster than the tentacles, and I realize we’re not going to make it. “Stop.” I tell Abbie between sharp spasms of pain. “Leave me here, go for the car.” “I’m not leaving you now Wills. We’re in this together.” She insists. Octavia reaches Samuel, there’s just no way I’m calling him dad anymore, before he can reach us, she grabs his arm, and pulls him towards her, her mouth is open, wider than I’ve ever seen, and her teeth... But Samuel yells out and turns, his right arm swinging hard, connecting with the side of her head. He breaks free form the grasp of her talons and pushes her backwards. She’s shaken only for a second, but a second is long enough for the thing behind her to grab both of her legs and pull her back, screaming and clawing into the soil, until she, like Mag, is swallowed up by shadow. I stand, shaking in pain, shivering in the heat, tired and exhausted and afraid for my life. I stand, arms at my side, fists clenched, and howl with hatred at this man, this thing, that used to be my father. This thing that turns back towards me and starts running. A wave of darkness rises behind him. The thing swelling and cresting like a hollow wave of oblivion and then it all comes down upon the both of us. And I’m lost. \*\* My eyes open to blackness, and I panic. I’m in the creature, the shadow thing. And then I see a blanket of silver pinpricks above me, and I sigh, relieved. It’s just the night. I’m on my back in the middle of nowhere, and all the stars are out. My vision starts to blur slightly, and I realize I’m crying. “Abbie?” I call out, but nothing in response. There’s a slight wind, the air is cold, and I have a feeling it’s going to get colder before the sun comes up again. I feel something warm against my leg, in my pocket. The gris-gris bag. Possibly the only reason I’m here, I think. But that doesn’t really help now. Samuel and Abbie gone. Mag and Octavia, possibly dead. The guitar, somewhere out there in the hands of a demon. And I’m shivering, feeling like a junkie again, in the middle of a dead cemetery. I start walking, and about 40 minutes later I reach what sort of looks like a newer road. Not the highway, but I know I’m heading in the right direction. For the first time in my life, I’m actually thankful I’ve experienced this pain before. This gnawing pit, this empty ache. It’s like a familiar friend is visiting, and the comfort of the anguish keeps me going for another six miles. I collapse in front of a motel, but the way I’m feeling I’m not sure if I can even make it inside. Whatever’s going on is getting worse. The cold shifts to colder, and I feel a drop of rain. It shouldn’t be raining. There was nothing but stars a second ago, and now the sky is thick with thunderclouds. I don’t know if this is real or not. I stand, steady myself, and turn towards the motel doors, and almost trip over the dead body. He’s wrapped up in an opaque sheet, but I can see the shades of ink underneath. I know it’s Cristopher. The rain starts coming down harder and there’s a movement under the plastic. I can’t see his face, just the darkness of his hair pressed against the tarp. I don’t want to see any more. I don’t want to see his eyes open, or his mouth move. I don’t want to see his lifeless body sit up; I don’t want to hear his corpse speak. I just want to say how sorry I am and turn and walk the other way. But as I turn, Cristopher’s arm slides out from under the wrap and brushes against my foot. Just a touch, but I scream in shock and trip over myself. I flail and fall to the ground, scraping my elbows on the cement. I push myself backwards with my feet until I hit the wall. But it’s not a wall, it’s a pair of legs. “Mister Forte?” I spin around, look up, “Detective Hawkes?” He looks down at me, curious. I turn and point to the dead body, but there is none. And the clouds have vanished as well. It’s night, it’s cold, the sky is clear, and I am helped into the motel lobby by the detective and the silent and strange Sara Barrow. \*\* My eyes open, and it’s daylight. My hands are shaking, and every single bone in my body hurts. My head hurts worse. “You’re up.” A dry voice says from the other side of the room. It’s Detective Hawkes, sitting in a chair, watching me. I sit up on the couch and holding my head while trying to not throw up, I ask what happened. “We were on our way to Vegas. Sara had a line on the guitar, and Samuel Forte ...your father.” “You knew?” “I did. But sometimes it’s best not to share all the information.” The detective looked up as Sara entered from the other room. “But now, I guess, it wouldn’t hurt to put all the cards on the table.” I nod slowly, watching Sara move around the room as if in a daze. “Is she okay?” “Yeah, she’s ... tracking.” He looks at me, “She got a bit tangled with her directions last night, probably a good thing, too. She felt, I don’t know what she feels, exactly, like a shift in the air. She can feel the darkness move. I don’t know, but she felt it, and instead of continuing to Vegas we ended up at Elgin Cemetery, a few miles away. Looked like a tornado had hit it. From there she knew how to get to you, though.” “So now what?” I ask, still feeling disoriented and tired. “Now we get your guitar.” “It’s not going to be easy,” I said with disgust. “Never is. But we know what we’re doing. And I need to get to your father...” Detective Hawkes stops, seeing the look of pain and distaste on my face as I spit. “He’s not my father.” I whisper, trying to stand up. “Not anymore. And I need to get to him as well. He’s taken too much away from me, and I’m not going to let him take anything else.” Sara stops pacing and turns on her heels to face us. “We need to go.” “Right.” Detective Hawkes says, standing up and grabbing a jacket and gun hanging on the chair behind him. “I’ll settle up, meet you at the car.” He’s out the door and I’m still trying to steady myself. Black spots spinning around my peripheral vision, and a constant feeling of nausea was not helping. “C’mon, I got you.” Sara says, placing her hand on my arm and helping me out the room and down the stairs to the waiting slightly beat up and beige Dodge Diplomat. I had to laugh, though. It hurt. “That’s his car?” Sara nodded. “Typical.” I looked at her, the silver charms on her necklace clinking against each other as she walked. “Why does Detective Hawkes want my father? I mean, I get the guitar, but what’s the connection with my dad?” Sara didn’t stop walking, and didn’t look at me, but answered quietly, “Your friend, Cristopher? Detective Hawkes is his uncle, and as far as he’s concerned, your father killed him.” “Come on, people.” Detective Hawkes shouted, his arm sticking out the driver’s side window, waving us towards the car. “We got about 400 miles to go, so let’s get moving.” \*\* Turned out the Detective was right on the distance, but wrong on the destination. We drove through Utah without speaking much. I know I was in and out of consciousness, feeling my insides being pulled apart and tied into knots at the same time. I would’ve killed for a hit of something, as if anyone had been holding what I needed a hit of. Six strings to save my goddamn life. I know we stopped a couple of times for coffee and gas, and a couple of times so I could throw up on the side of the highway. Sometimes it was blood, sometimes it was worse. We were in Nevada, the heat was hitting again, but I was shivering. Doing close to 80 down I-15 and closing in on Vegas, Sara leans forwards and then slams back in her seat, as if she’d been shoved by an invisible hand. “Sara?” the detective said, concerned. He didn’t stop but moved into a slower lane. “What is it?” He was surprisingly calm. It seemed like this is something she’s done before. He was definitely used to it, even if I wasn’t. “We need to turn, get off the freeway.” She said “Here?” he asked, looking around, “We’re like nowhere.” “Up a half mile or so,” she insisted. “It’s coming up.” And sure enough, there it was, a turn off to Valley of Fire Highway. Sounds about right, I thought. Detective Hawkes nods and gets off the Interstate. I manage to sit up in the back seat and peer out the window. It doesn’t look good. It makes the little cemetery I was just at seem like an oasis. We’re about forty miles outside of Las Vegas, driving down the Valley of Fire Highway in an overheating Dodge Diplomat. I’m feeling like I’m going to die, but if all goes well, I’m going to make sure that my father dies first. “Wait...” I said. Something just moved past the car, on the side of the road, but we’re going too fast for it to have been an animal. Sara turns in her seat and looks at me, “What?” “I saw something...” I stop, stare out the window at the passing nothingness. It’s just dirt and heat out there. There’s nothing. “I thought ... never mind.” But there it was again, a shadow on the ground, keeping pace with the car. It wasn’t underneath anything, it wasn’t a shadow of something, it was just a shadow. Moving beside us. “It’s right there.” I whisper to Sara. “I don’t see it.” She whispers back, staring out the window. “Listen. Can you hear it?” I ask, noticing a growing sound, a sharp waiting tone, but sharper. A note that I couldn’t quite place. “I can.” She sounds surprised. “I don’t see anything, but I hear that.” “I hear nothing.” The Detective mutters, “but I have a feeling that means we’re going in the right direction.” I have a sinking feeling we’re going in the wrong direction, and I silently hope I can hold it all together. The shadow stretches out alongside the car and then snaps back and speeds forwards ahead of us. My mouth tastes like lead, the pain in my stomach intensifies, as if the sound is making it bigger. The sound, it grows inside of me. * ​ * ​ “Thank you for helping me get through this. We are nearing the end. It looks as if we have only one part left to offer. I hope this will lead me back to my brother, or at least help me learn what truly happened.” – Abigail Forte [PART SIX](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4voci/i_have_to_get_rid_of_this_guitar_i_found_part_six/) (THE FINAL CHAPTER)

How to Survive College - the old and the new

xyjhib

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyjhib/how_to_survive_college_the_old_and_the_new/

[I fainted during the fall.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxoubl/how_to_survive_college_the_creatures_lair/) In fact, I’m pretty sure I fainted seconds after the laundry lady shoved me over the edge. I’m sure everyone is curious as to how I survived the fall into that hole, but we’ll never know, and frankly I’m a little surprised to find out that I don’t *want* to know. At all. Let’s assume it was some weird otherworldly transition bullshit and not think about it much anymore. I’m certainly trying to forget about that sudden lurch of abject terror and weightlessness. It’s buried back there with everything else I’m trying to hide from myself. Suffice that I woke up flailing. I was on my back on a flat surface like cement, surrounded by an inch of water. My shirt and jeans were soaked, but only on the back, so I couldn’t have been laying there for very long. The sky overhead was a dingy beige, like it was shooting for gray but didn’t quite make it. It reminded me of the paint in the dorm rooms. The ground all around me was the color of charcoal, a startling contrast to the sterile sky. Something had a hold of my leg. That is why I woke up flailing. I shrieked and kicked, splashing at the water in a blind panic. Whatever had hold of me immediately let go, which went a long way to calming my panic, I’ll admit. I sat up, heart pounding, and stared at my… captor? Rescuer? Patricia. She stood with her shoulders and back slumped, like she was still kneeling in front of the slab, her arms dangling limply in front of her. Her head was missing save for a few pieces of flesh dangling from the edge of her tattered neck stub. I pushed myself up, watching her carefully as I stood. She remained in place, swaying slightly from side to side, and made no move towards me. I reached back and checked my back pocket. The pencil case, thankfully, was still there and was undamaged. “So what now?” I asked her. “Can you lead me to the eyeball?” If this was its lair, then perhaps it was taking a nap. One of its pairs of legs was missing, after all, roaming the wasteland unattended. Patricia didn’t move, though. I tore my gaze away from her and surveyed the terrain. Perfectly flat as far as the eye could see, save for strange structures dotted here and there. They reminded me of rock formations, worn away by water into arches and pillars, but they were colored in blues and greens and browns and had sharp edges jutting haphazardly from their bulk. I’d go investigate one of those first, I reasoned. There was nothing else to look at. There’s an area in the dorms that divides the dormitories from the dining hall. It’s too long to be a room, but too wide to be a hallway. The university put furniture in it a long time ago in an attempt to make it useful, but no one uses it. When I say a long time ago, I mean it looks like furniture from an early 90’s Taco Bell. The sofas and chairs have hard wooden arms and the cushions are thin, the fabric faded teal with the remnants of once vivid purple and blue squares. So naturally the students like to use them like building blocks. It’s not uncommon to walk past a pile of furniture that towers precariously to the ceiling, a sofa turned on its end and chairs balanced on top of each other. Those bizarre sculptures now rose out of the water in this other world. I stared stupidly at the one I’d picked to investigate. Why was it here, of all things? Did the act of constructing it give it enough meaning to exist elsewhere? I started walking to the next. Patricia followed me the entire time, shuffling a few feet behind me. I tried to ignore her. There was nothing I could say to her that could possibly make me feel better about what happened to her and the others. She wasn’t leading me to the creature, but nor was she trying to hinder me. I wasn’t sure why she’d been dragging me when I woke up, but I didn’t feel threatened by her at the moment. She was just kind of… there. I checked two more structures before something happened. I was considering toppling one, just to see if that did anything, when Patricia sidled up next to me. Then she bumped into me. Backed up, and bumped into me again. She was pushing me closer to the tower of tacky furniture. I shifted as she directed, crowding close to the side of two sofas stacked on top of each other. The light source of this world seemed to be from all directions at once, so the furniture didn’t cast a shadow. I stood there a moment, waiting, and Patricia pressed her shoulder into my chest, pinning me there. I didn’t feel trapped, exactly. I felt like a good push would throw her off balance and let me walk away. Bemused, I played along though. I didn’t think Patricia - or whatever was left of her - had hostile intentions. The light around me darkened. And then a shadow slipped out from the base of the tower - no - it *covered* it. It flowed fluidly along the water at my feet, undulating gently. A whale’s shadow. I saw the flippers protruding from its sides. Instinctively, I looked up. Its back was to me. I saw the dark spot of its blowhole. Barnacles covered its skin in patches, but there was something wrong with them. They glistened pink and slick. I squinted, trying to understand what I was looking at. Holes. The barnacles were gone and all that was left were holes, chunks of flesh taken out of the whale and revealing the fat beneath. It continued swimming through the air, proceeding serenely with no attention given to myself and Patrcia huddling in the shelter of the stacked furniture. Only once it was well away from us did Patricia step away from me. She didn’t want it to see us. We weren’t alone in this world, I realized. I looked down at my feet. Stooped to get a better look at the water I was walking in. I stared until I began to see shadows, rippling shapes that I could only discern the outline of. I followed the edge of one for a while until it stopped, and I finally understood what I was seeing. It was a building. I was inside the traveling river, staring up through the water at campus. They said that things are in the river. Large creatures that swim deep down in its depths. I glanced up at the direction the whale had gone, shuddering. I had to get out of here as quickly as I could. The next thing that came our way might not be as docile as the whale. At least now I had a direction to go in. If the creature was the weapon of the administration, then it would likely be at the administrative building. I didn’t know where I was, but I only needed to find a distinctive enough shadow to get my bearings. There were only three buildings that were particularly tall on this campus. The library, the administrative building, and the building that housed the thing in the hallway. I got lucky. I found the administration’s shadow before the other two. I’d continued walking in the direction Patricia had been dragging me, so I could only assume she was trying to take me there while I was unconscious. It was a disconcerting thought. Was she trying to help or was she trying to add me to the creature’s collection of legs? I tried shoving her, just to make sure I could overpower her if I needed to. She stumbled in the direction I pushed her in, her arms swinging like wet noodles. Satisfied, I kept going until I saw a long shadow stretching towards me underneath the water like a pointing finger. We were here. And up ahead, in a space clear of the stacked furniture mounds, was a dome. It protruded from the water like a contact lens floating in its case, glistening with moisture. I approached slowly. There were smaller mounds around it and it was quickly apparent what they were. The other Rain Chasers. They lay scattered about like discarded dolls. Patricia was the only one to retain her will. But as we approached, she tottered ahead and then flopped lifelessly to the ground. She’d accompanied me here and now the rest was up to me. I was on my own. Stabbing it with the pencil didn’t seem like a great idea. It hadn’t worked on the possum, after all. Unless… unless I got it right in the pupil. I mean, that seems like an important significant part, right? Some sort of vulnerability? It was all I had to go on. So, with my heart in my throat, I went about trying to get its attention. Only part of its surface rose above the water and the pupil wasn’t visible yet. So I walked up and kicked it. And then, when that didn’t get a reaction, I climbed on top of it. I climbed up to the peak of the dome and then… I jumped up and down. Look. I was a little hysterical at that point, I think. I wasn’t thinking straight. At least now I can say that I am probably the only person in the world to know what it’s like jumping up and down on top of a giant eyeball. (kind of like jumping on a soggy trampoline) *That* got its attention. It shook beneath me and I lost my balance and fell sideways. I rolled down its side and then over the edge, falling a few feet to land in the water. All around me, the bodies of the Rain Chasers were staggering to their feet and hastening to support their parasitic master. I stumbled backwards, frantically feeling for the pencil in its case. The pupil. I had to stab the pupil. The immense black circle rotated to stare at me. It was no longer indifferent to my presence. It saw me and it was *angry*. It couldn’t speak, but I *understood* nonetheless. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was an intruder. And it was going to make certain I never left this place. It skittered forwards like an obscene spider. I turned to run, realizing belatedly just how *fast* it moved. I saw out of the corner of my eye Patricia, her shoulders absorbed into the creature’s mass. One of her arms gestured, flinging outwards and pointing. I didn’t think. I simply reacted. I threw myself forwards to where she was pointing and behind me, the creature slammed itself into the ground. It barely missed my legs. This was how it had killed the kelpie. It’d simply flattened it, crushing its body beneath it. I scrambled to my feet and ran. Behind me I heard the creaking of its stolen legs as it rose, readying itself for another attempt. I fumbled at the pencil case. How was I going to get close enough to stab it without being crushed in the attempt? My fingers brushed something else inside the case. The pencil shavings. An ancient thing had given me this pencil and the devil *did* play by the rules. The devil had probably written some of those rules himself as one of the prominent recurring tricksters in the stories. These creatures might not be following the rules, they might be new creations with their own patterns, but the devil’s authority couldn’t be easily dismissed. The old against the new. I upended the pencil case and shook the shavings out into the water. A very simple trick. If given an object by an inhuman, no matter how innocuous it is, it should be thrown behind oneself when pursued. Then it will become something else and block the way. The water began to boil. It turned shiny and black where the water touched it, the color of a lead point. The bubbles popped like tar. And when the bodies of the Rain Chasers struck the roiling patch of water, they slowed to a crawl. Their knees buckled and began to shake under the strain of keeping the eyeball aloft. I saw the creature look around in panic. Its pupil rolled all the way back, looking at where it’d come. It was preparing to flee. It would turn around and run and escape the water boiling all around it. I clenched my fists, feeling a flicker of anger in my chest. No. This thing’s birth had killed too many people. I would not be satisfied unless it was destroyed. “Patricia!” I screamed. “Over here!” I called them by name. One by one, I cried out their names. I hadn’t known them all before they died, but I made sure to learn them afterwards. I wasn’t sure why at the time, if perhaps it was some weird way of grieving that I was going through. I understood now. There are no coincidences in the stories. The creature’s legs kept going. It kept dragging the eye forward, until they were in the center of the boiling water. Then they could go no further. Their strength was gone. One collapsed, falling heavily to their knees, and then another. The eye pivoted around and now it stared directly at me. I felt its hatred, its rage that I had *dared* bring this thing here, this poison provided to me by another ancient being. But I also felt its fear. An inhuman. Afraid. Afraid of what I’d done. One of the Rain Chasers raised their hand to me. Patricia. The water was carrying her down into it, growing steadily deeper and pulling her and all the rest of them under. I stretched out my own hand until our fingers met. I clasped at her and her hand went limp in mine. She wasn’t reaching out for help. She just… wanted someone to be there. She didn’t want to be alone as she finally, finally found her rest. I held her hand as the water swallowed her up. Her fingers slipped from mine and vanished beneath the inky surface. The eyeball was quick to follow. As it sank, the lead leached into its sclera, turning it black, and the blood vessels ruptured and blood bloomed beneath the surface. It was coming apart. Soon it would be nothing but a mass of jelly to be washed away by the water. I watched it sink until there was nothing left to see. The poison in the water began to dissipate and the boiling subsided. It was gone. The devil’s weapon had done its job. I stood there for a long moment, allowing myself to finally feel something like relief. It was done. I’d done it. I wasn’t ready to think about how I was going to get out of there yet. But the moment was short-lived, for my actions had not gone unnoticed by the denizens of the river. The skies were darkening at the horizon. My breath caught in my throat. I watched it approaching like storm clouds, until it grew close enough that I could see movement. It was a swarm. They swam through the air, churning their bodies in feverish pursuit. What I’d done had upset this place and now all those creatures living in the river - the fish and the whales and the older creatures that only exist in legend - were all coming for me. I looked about frantically, trying to find an escape. The featureless river stretched as far as I could see, broken only by the towers of furniture that would offer me no protection against the approaching swarm. I was done. There was no one left to help me. There was just me, small and scared. The devil had said he’d make me a heroine, but in the end he’d be laughing at the audacity I’d had in accepting his bargain. I’m nothing special. I’d gotten this far by luck and there was nothing in me to get me out. I collapsed under the weight of all those thoughts. My legs simply gave out. I sat there, my hands brushing the ground beneath me as my jeans soaked up the water all around me. The ground didn’t feel like cement. It felt rubbery, like a membrane. My heart hammered with a brief flame of hope. I tentatively pushed on it. It yielded, but only a little, no matter how hard I pushed. It wouldn’t break simply by my efforts alone. Unless it was pierced by something sharp. Like a pencil. I scrambled to my feet and pulled the pencil from the case, then threw the case aside. I wouldn’t need it any longer if this worked. Then, my throat tight with desperation, I raised the pencil high and then brought it down, stabbing it into the ground. Part of me expected it to snap. Part of my brain was preparing for it to break, for it to leave me with no options but to sit and wait to die. Instead, the water resisted for a moment, then the ground broke beneath me. It was like a water balloon breaking in slow motion. The thin shell peeled outward in a ring and the water rushed through. I was caught up in a sudden whirlpool, swallowed up by a vortex of brackish water. I was falling, pulled down by the current I’d released, and there was nothing I could do but curl into a ball and close my eyes. I slammed into something solid. It shook under the force of the impact, but held. I tumbled slowly in the water, flailing to feel what I’d been thrown into, and just as my palm touched its smooth surface, it was wrenched back from me. Light flooded my vision. I had a split second impression of a doorway and then I was falling through, carried on a tidal wave of water that quickly depleted itself as it spread throughout the room. I was dimly aware that someone had screamed. I wasn’t alone. I lay on my back in the middle of the room, a chair leg not far from my head. The lights overhead were blinding. “Ashley!?” a familiar voice exclaimed in shock. “Grayson!?” He stood over me, his jeans sopping wet from being caught in the deluge. We stared at each other, dumbfounded. I stammered a few times, trying to figure out what to tell him. I finally settled on pointing back at the door I’d just fallen through (which I think was a closet) and saying ‘steam tunnels.’ The room I was in was an office. A very nice office. There were formidable paintings on every wall with heavy frames and vivid oil brushstrokes depicting various buildings around campus. I had no doubt they were originals. The desk was massive, but nearly empty, made out of a dark cherrywood. The carpet… well, it would need to be replaced, now that I’d released a massive flood of dirty river water. “Oh no,” Grayson said in a panic, turning around and looking at the mess. “Oh noooooo.” “Uh, maybe they’ll think a pipe burst?” I suggested. “Okay. Yeah. Pipe breaking. Let’s go with that. But Ashley-” He turned to me and grabbed my arm. “You *really* shouldn’t be found here,” he said urgently. “It’d be really awkward to explain. You’ll have to tell me what happened later, okay?” He started insistently dragging me towards the door. I followed more slowly, looking around the room in an attempt to figure out who it belonged to. The windows were covered with heavy curtains, but I could see through the gap that we were in the administration building, possibly near the top floor. “Grayson,” I said slowly as he wrenched the door open, “is this the…?” “President’s office,” he replied grimly. “Yeah.” “But what are *you* doing here?” “Meeting my dad for lunch. Now get out of here!” And he shut the door in my face. Grayson and I have been carefully avoiding each other since that encounter. I don’t want to explain what happened in the steam tunnels and he doesn’t want to explain that his father is the university’s president. I haven’t decided whether I should be angry or not yet. He’s probably got loads of reasons for not telling me, if this town is anything like the one I came from. Kate had a reputation from the moment she was born, simply because of her family name, after all. And Grayson may be struggling with his own familial issues, if his father hadn’t told him anything of what was really happening on this campus. Besides, it’s not like I’ve been exactly forthcoming on my own. There’s not a lot of trust going around right now. I focused on my approaching finals instead. And while I didn’t need help on them, the devil still deigned to make an appearance as I was walking to my final exam. “I have *so many questions*,” I hissed as he fell into step beside me. “I’m sure you do,” he replied smugly. “Who was controlling the weapon? Is anything going to come after me for destroying it? Will Grayson and I ever smooch?” “And you’re not going to answer any of them.” “I can answer the last one-” “*Don’t.*” He fell into a satisfied silence for a while, which I really appreciated. However, there was one question I wanted answered, and it was one I thought he’d indulge. He is the devil, after all, and the devil is quite vain. “I have to ask - why a pencil?” I said. “I went down this totally wrong direction with it about writing and all along it was just one of those random things you throw behind you as you’re running away.” “Honestly, I just asked a stranger on my way to find you. Came across some fourteen year old and was like hey if I’m giving a magic item to a college student, what should it be? And they said a pencil.” I stared at him in disbelief for a good minute, not saying anything. “What?” the devil huffed. He refused to meet my angry glare. “I thought it was funny.” “Okay, well, whatever,” I sighed. “My part of the bargain is fulfilled. Now you just need to make sure I get through the next three years of school.” I started to walk faster to get away from him. I had every intention of working very hard in my classes so that I never had to see him again. “Hey,” he said. I paused but refused to turn around. I was getting sick of his need to have a dramatic last word. “You should talk to your advisors about pre-law. I think you’d be a good lawyer and you can major in anything you find interesting.” “I’ve barely survived one year of school,” I sighed. “I’m not sure I could handle *yet more school*. Besides.” I finally gave him the satisfaction of turning around so that I could see his smirk. “I’m getting really sick of rules,” I said. “That’s a pity,” he said, “because you’ve got three more years to go. A new semester is starting. I’m officially a sophomore. Cassie and Maria are coming back to campus. I don’t think what I did is anything more than restoring the status quo, but I’ll take it. Because as much as I hate it, the devil was right. I’ve got three more years here. And they might be incomplete and they might be a flawed strategy… but the rules are all I’ve got to help myself and everyone else survive this place. I’m already printing them out for [when the semester starts](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/yegewf/how_to_survive_college_but_seriously_how_do_you/).[\[x\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/goatvalleycampgrounds/) [Read the first draft of the rules.](https://www.reddit.com/r/goatvalleycampgrounds/comments/t34mbv/how_to_survive_college/) [Visit the college's website.](https://alderrayne.com/)

It Started with a Black Dot

xz43hw

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xz43hw/it_started_with_a_black_dot/

It started with a black dot. It looked like a piece of a peppercorn stuck in between two of my teeth next to my gums on the top left side of my mouth. In between my canine and incisor. This was a notorious plaque-ridden spot that was the bane of my existence. I took a deep sigh and used my thumbnail to try to pick it out of my teeth. Lucy my best friend exclaimed. “Don't worry it's not even noticeable!! Don’t let this ruin our night!” I turned my attention away from the large mirror in the bar's bathroom, adjusting my top and following Lucy to the dance floor. I let the music take me the bass vibrating my bones. I couldn’t stop my tongue from repeatedly moving over the front of the spot and trying to suck the kernel out of my teeth. Before I knew it, it was the last call for drinks. With that call, Lucy and I took our leave getting an uber to get back to the apartment.  I got a number while we were out and a free drink so they must not have noticed. I absent-mindedly stuck my thumbnail into the crack in my teeth trying to once again leverage the kernel out. Lucy saw and grabbed my arm to remind me not to pick at it. I had no real hope without a mirror anyways. It was okay when I was moving but sitting in the back of the Uber I felt restless... Anxious.  We finally got back to our apartment. We were lucky to be able to have a two-bedroom. It's hard to get a good apartment in Seattle. We had two small rooms a tiny cooking area that barely counts as a kitchen and enough room for a love seat and tv in front of a window in the living area. The bedrooms could fit a queen bed and an end table. I had under-bed storage and a large mirror hung on my wall with wall organizers that organized my makeup. The entire apartment was about 500 square feet and we had a communal bathroom for our entire floor. About 20 people. At least there were multiple stalls.  I flung my purse on my bed and allowed myself to flop face down on the duvet. One thing that’s nice about not having a lot of room is everything allowed to be in my space was immaculately kept and of high quality. I’m what you would call a picky person. Without my feet supporting my weight they ached. The high heels I had been wearing finally took their toll and I took them off with an audible gasp of relief. I hung up my purse on my door hook and placed my heels in under-bed storage, swinging my legs to the side of my bed with my mirror creating a makeshift makeup area.  In one of my wall organizers, I had dental picks and my other dental care items. Our kitchen area did have a running half sink so thankfully I could do most of my routine in my apartment. With a far superior tool in my hand and I got to work digging the black spot out of my teeth. I don’t even remember eating anything that could have left a kernel in my teeth. I try to keep my figure with lots of salads and whole fruits and vegetables. With my pickiness, I like to keep to the same three meals in a day. A banana for breakfast with a protein shake. A salad with one cup of quinoa for lunch and another salad with a small protein or with dressing for dinner. My mind continued to wander as I contemplated the next day. And a prick of pain brought me back to the present. With my obsessive picking, I irritated my gums and a trickle of blood poured over the black spot that was still firmly lodged in my teeth.  I groaned in frustration and grabbed my shower caddy to shower off the day. In the bathroom, I again looked in the mirror and it seemed the black spot got even bigger. It now was about the size of half of my tooth still in between my two teeth. My jaw was throbbing the discomfort of something so large stuck in between my teeth and the irritation of the bleeding gums. It no longer looked like a kernel it now looked more like a cavity from a distance.  I care a lot about my appearance and this sight unsettled me. I quickly showered and finished my routine. Going back to my apartment I saw that Lucy was on the loveseat already in her pajamas. She apparently didn’t shower. Lucy is not as particular as I am. “Lucy, Lucy... Lucy!!” I demanded her attention. “Look at my teeth!” I bared my teeth to give her the best view of the issue at hand. “EEEEEW your bleeding! You need to stop picking at your teeth! I know you have a thing about being clean but this is a lot.” “No, I was just trying to get that THING out from between my teeth. Remember? The kernel from at the bar bathroom?” “What are you talking about? Your teeth look perfect as always except for your bleeding gums.” “You're kidding me, you really don’t see it?” “Well per your words you are a ‘picky’ person” She used quotations with her fingers as she said that. “Maybe you just need to relax. Don’t worry it's just in your mind.” With a sigh, I got up with my caddy and went to my room. As I passed Lucy’s room I saw a bit of the destruction inside. I closed it as Lucy pretended to ignore me. I allow her to have her space to be as she calls it ‘creative’ as long as it doesn’t leak into the rest of our apartment. I put away my cady in its spot under my bed next to my nightstand. Then I grabbed my sleep mask and sleep scrunchy from my end table. I braided my long red hair and secured my face mask and went to sleep. I tossed and turned all night. I have problems when my schedule is disrupted and my teeth felt foreign in my mouth. The item that was logged in my teeth and jaw was awkwardly pushing the teeth apart. My teeth were repositioning and ached, bringing back memories of having braces when I was a child. I finally was able to ignore it long enough to drift into an uneasy sleep. I generally don’t remember my dreams. But this one was disturbing... I was working at my job as a yoga instructor and I was going through my vinyasa and everyone was warmed up. I was teaching my most advanced class so I started moving to the harder poses and adding them in. Downward dog, Plank, Upward facing dog, and into bakasana or crane pose. This pose requires nesting your knees into your elbows and positioning your body weight forward. This position requires strength and balance.  My balanced failed and I fell forward into my face. There was a loud thud and a sickening clicking noise as multiple teeth fell out of their sockets. At that point, I woke in a sweat gasping and reaching for my mouth with both of my hands grasping my teeth to feel them securely in my mouth. Except two...... I sat up still holding the teeth in question. I gazed into the mirror and saw that the black thing had completely engulfed the two teeth that it was previously in between and there was something that looked like a piece of peppercorn in my bottom teeth directly below the two previous teeth. The now rotten-looking brown teeth were barely holding onto my gums.  I covered my mouth with my hand and got out my phone, making an online emergency appointment with my favorite dentist. I glanced at the time 4:41 AM. Well, I am up now. I put on my clothes for the day opting for comfy lounge ware due to the pounding pain in my face. I had my advanced class at 6 pm tonight and normally I would run errands and go to the gym until class started. I made my morning protein shake and sat on the loveseat.  I have a lot of time to kill before my dentist appointment and I don’t know what to do with myself. I looked through google on different dental problems but this came out of nowhere. I am not sure what to do has anyone been through something like this before?

A Voice in the Vent

xz4q6k

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xz4q6k/a_voice_in_the_vent/

I remember when playing in the woods behind my house was an endless exploration of imaginative adventure that could only further inspire my eight-year-old mind. Many times I was a barbarian warrior like Conan, lopping off heads with my enchanted tree branch. The evil beasts conjured up in my mind stood no chance against my strength and whit, my lust for action and romantic adventure. However, I now realize just how close my world was intertwined with the Cimmerian of his fiction. For many times the tales of Sword and Sorcery described monsters of unfathomable terror. Of such, only the brute force and unwavering mind of a fearless warrior could encounter and hope to defeat. I was not this warrior and yet my discovery of a hidden terror seemed to be destined for me to find. For when I wandered off the set path which leads from mine to my grandparent's houses I stumbled across a shaded patch of forest with a small murky pond at its center. The area was dead quiet save for the crunching of dead leaves beneath my feet and the occasional nerve-wracking pop of breaking twigs. I remember a slight fog over the water, more like vapors dissipating as if the pond we're boiling. Yet, being an ignorant youth, I reached down and touched the surface and felt it was very cold. So much so that I drew back my hand in surprise only to begin violently wiping my fingers on my clothes for the liquid was like some sort of sticky alcohol. With the commotion I made I heard across the water a soft rustling that seemed to be heading around the pond in my direction, but stopped once I glanced towards it. For all my fear of the sound, my eyes suddenly came across a shape in the center of the pond. It was pale like smooth limestone yet from it came a small delicate trail of bubbles escaping from an unseen pocket of air. Stupidly I started to lean forward, squinting for a better look. I fell. My body was submerged in the cold burning of the foggy liquid. I desperately tried to place my feet on whatever ground I could find. There was none. I kicked and thrashed toward the surface not wanting to open my eyes for fear of the liquid blinding me. Suddenly, I felt one of my feet strike something hard. That limestone maybe. But in response, there came a sound, a low grunt of some kind. The pond began to build up a slight current and, as if returning the favor, a sharp pain hit my thigh. I screamed into the mysterious waters and put all of my efforts into reaching the shore of what now seemed an infinit ocean. I was no longer Conan the as I breached the surface. I was a child crying out for his parents, smothering from the fumes of this potentially poisonous body of creature infested water. I climbed out after what seemed an eternity of an unwaking nightmare and refused to look back as I ran from the pond. I expected to hear the sound of the monster breaching the pond, but the silence of dark woods remained unbroken. The vapors of the drying liquid trailed behind me as I desperately made for the familiar path. When it was in sight I felt the calmness of familiarity which caused me to slow my pace. The world was luminous with the summer evening and the creatures of common knowledge went about their business ignorant of what I had found. When I reached home I wondered if I had only dreamed up another fantasy in which I encountered the pond. There was no scent of the strange water, no more burning on my skin, but the fear in my heart returned as I looked down at my torn jeans and spied the coagulated blood from a long scratch in my flesh. I hurried inside, tossed my clothes in the hamper, and showered for good measure, unintentionally earning praise from my mother for being on top of my hygienics. I told my parents nothing about the pond or the scratch, but I couldn't completely hide my fearful glances to the windows facing the edge of the forest during dinner. The questions did not come. All was normal within our home which made more and more at ease, as well as conscious of my illogical perception. The evening went on with my dad and I watching reruns of Star Trek while my mom read one of her awful Amish based novels in the lamplight. I think of this time to comfort myself with what followed. I was tucked into bed lovingly by my parents, being an only child at the time I was coddled quite a bit. My bedroom was alight with glow in the dark stars, posters of Star Wars, shelves of action figures ready to defend me while I numbered. The light of my aquarium and the shadows of Angelfish gliding on the walls eased me into a near dose until the bubbles from the pump caused me to open my eyes in fear. Suddenly, as if responding to my fearful pondering, I heard a scratching in the vent near the right side of my bed. A soft clinking followed by breathing as if something small was making a great effort to get through the grate. I was terrified. My hopes that my imagination from my playful excursions of the day had overtaken my senses were dashed. The Spock logic prior tot had provided the explanations for all that overcame me was lost. Yet the delusion refused to let loose its prisoner which was my sanity. I knew I had to face it in order to prove its nonexistence so that logic may once again have its dominion. "Hello?" I asked the darkness. Immediately the noises ceased and in my mind's eye, I could see a rat scurrying away in fear of its discovery, but it was my contributions to this fable which were now dismissed. "You found it, boy." Came the whisper of a tiny creature behind the grate. My eyes welled with tears at the sound. I was about to call out for my parents when it continued. "All this time I tried to keep it hidden from you "Short Noses" and a runt such as yourself seems compelled to find and wake it!" The voice was irritated, yet it also contained fear in its reverberations. "What was it?" I asked in a trembling voice. My aquarium bubbled quietly reminding me of the pale shape in the pond. "It IS a manticore. One that has hybernated for many human lifetimes but has ended far more. I was entrusted to watch over it by the one who placed it in its prison. You stirred it. Now it will soon awaken." I raised up forgetting my fear of the disturbing circumstance of speaking with this hidden thing. I knew what a manticore was. I knew it well enough to have it far from my mind to dream up during my woodland adventures, for the image of the creature caused real fear in me, though in a hypothetical sense. The images I had seen in books of the monster went through my brain and disturbed me anew, now I realized that I had been scratched by the thing in its restlessness. Had I opened my eyes while submerged in the pond I knew that I would have gone mad to see its shape within the burning fog. "What can I do?" I asked the voice. It didn't respond, yet I could still hear it breathing in the vent. "Please..." I whimpered. "I didn't mean to wake it up." I was trembling beneath my bedsheets which used to make me feel safe. Now I only felt cold and alone and guilty for bringing such a thing back into the world. "You cannot put it back to sleep. Its been too long now and it will be hungry. You cannot hurt it with any weapon for its flesh is invulnerable. It can eat you whole and it will leave no bones behind. Its roar is terrible, boy. Your mother and father will wake up to the sound of it and will be taken by madness once it enters your home. It will devour your neighbors, all who dwell nearby, and no one will know what has happened to any of you." I fell out of my bed and onto the floor sobbing. I crawled to the vent and put my face down to it without fear of what I might see if anything. "What can I do?" I implored in quiet desperation. "How can I kill it?" In the grate, I could see a tiny shape stirring within. Two glimmers of silvery light peered at me and I could see the green flesh of a long pointed nose. It was a Goblin, small and mischievous looking, though at the moment the eyes looked sad and pitying. When it spoke for the final time I sensed the want of a brighter circumstance. "If you wish to truly be the hero you pretend to be, you must slay it through its mouth." The eyes disappeared and a soft scrambling shape faded into the darkness. I was alone with this frightening knowledge and I had to make a choice. Should I return to my bed and risk waking up to the roar of the manticore? Or do I face the night and the strange water to slay it before it rises? I was a child. I was scared. But, I knew I couldn't let my family and my neighbors be devoured because of what I had done. I dressed, grabbed a flashlight and a small family picture propped on the table next to my bed, then quietly went to the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife from the rack. With a weapon in hand I went out the back door to the swaying of trees of a windy midnight. I started the path with an empty mind, neither allowing terrible imaginations nor doubting logic hinder my stride. I wasn't brave. I wasn't foolish. I simply WAS. The reality, or at least my perception of it, had been shattered into shapeless pieces of mirror that no matter how well-formed could never show my reflection in its former naivety. I prayed that I wouldn't find the pond, but I knew for sure that I would. The shape would be there. I would have to go back into the water and somehow open the mouth of the manticore and shove in a feeble kitchen knife. This was my plight. I was eight years old on an adventure in my favorite place to pretend and I could feel a laughing mockery at my innocence when I left the path once more. There was no sound but the wind in the trees. A crescent moon and a star-filled sky watched me from afar. I held my family picture to my chest and walked the hills of dead leaves. The beam of my flashlight shown through the trees who almost seemed lonely in this part of the woods for in truth, this was a world left behind a long, long time ago. When fairies took flight in Elvish gardens and Saytrs piping tunes for dancing nymphs. Whatever creatures flourished in this pocket of time so close to my home we're long since devoured by themanticore. Likely whatever force imprisoned the beast also sent it here to our plane. As well as having the courtesy of leaving a Goblin behind to watch over it. No doubt this same being is still sowing travesties in other worlds as it has for us at present. I finally saw the pond reflecting it's murky grayness with my flashlight and my soul cried out within me as a cold fear enveloped my body. There were no more vapors floating above the surface. Neither was the pale shape below. It was still and empty. The thoughts now began to race both logical and fantastical. It was gone! It was never there! I can return to my warm bed and forget about it. It will be there waiting for me in the midst of my parent's innards. I wanted to scream for all the emotions, but it was the Manticore that screamed into the night sending a terrible jolt throughout my body. My bowls cramped at the sight of the giant face of a man hovering 10ft in the air. The paws of the enormous lion body thudded the ground, the wings on it's back flapped a gust that almost made me topple over. The barbed porcupine-like tale flicked violently left to right taking out a tree with one careless swipe. The eyes were a large and bulging yellow with black gashes for feline pupils. When my eyes met that of the monster it screamed again in satisfaction at its discovery of its first meal after so long a slumber. I could see its three rows of teeth as it howled at me and yet somehow my only thought was 'My parents are hearing this and they are going to find that I am out of bed. They're going to look for me. They won't find me. I'll have been swallowed whole.' When the manticore reached me it stopped and gazed down at my tiny form and did something that finally snapped me out of my insane stupor. It grinned. The monster was grinning at my fear. The teeth were sharp and yellow. The stench of its breath broke through each of them and made me almost vomit. Stagnation of time. The willingness of its stomach acids to return to its labor The manticore was ready to indulge itself. It breathed in through its nostrils then opened its mouth and slowly came down over my head. Yet, somehow, instead of succumbing to terror a white-hot hatred took over me suddenly. I was offended at how weak it perceived me. I was irate at how much of a bully this thing was. This freak of nature had thrown its weight around eons ago and eradicated the peaceful world it which blighted. I refused to let this happen again. To my family, my neighbors, to me! I stepped on the first layer of its teeth and stabbed the knife into its tongue. It screamed and began to try to close its jaws on me, but I had already climbed further In and now sank my knife into the roof of its mouth. The beast thrashed its head trying to sling me out but I kept climbing further in, slicing and stabbing all the way through. I remember the barbarous man of action that I pretended to be and I embraced it fully, burrowing deep into its throat, spitting the blood from my own mouth as I climbed. By the sudden change in equilibrium, I could tell it had fallen to the ground and was struggling against the pain. I pressed my feet against the back of the throat and shoved the knife deep beneath the skull. I couldn't penetrate it so I began to cut upward as hard as I could. Its screams were deafening, but I knew that it could hear my laughter as I sliced and mangled without mercy. Suddenly, I was drowned in the cold burning water from the pond along with fresh screams as it mingled with the manticore wounds. I lost my knife in the flood but not my footing or the family picture in my hand. I kissed it then smashed the glass in the frame then shoved it in the open gash as hard as I could. The monster bellowed then suddenly began to whine pitifully. The thrashing ceased and the water flowed inside until I was completely submerged. I began to swim out of the mouth fearing the teeth, but to desperate to hesitate. My eyes burned horribly and all vision had darkened from the night so I felt my way past the teeth and to the surface. Through the burning I could make out my flashlight which lay on the ground and I swam towards it ,fearing the claws of the beast seizing me before and pulling me under. Suddenly, there were small hands grabbing my right arm helping me out of the pond. It was the goblin though I could barely see its shape. "You did it, boy! You did it! You have slain the Manticore!" I was confused. All the effort I put forth to hurt the creature still didn't seem enough to kill it. The goblin continued to bellow his claim and I expected any moment the thing to rise back up once more and chomp us both. Yet the creature was silent. I could see now that it had plunged headfirst into the pond and drowned itself apparently. "Its... really dead?" I asked. "Poisoned! The water is deadly to Manticores that ingest, which is why It was put to sleep here, but they can hold their breath for a long time. You made it drink the water to relieve the torture you brought upon it. Its innards will burn away now." I fell back and watched the star-filled sky. A meteor passed and with it went my wish to always have this bravery that overcame my impossible fear. As the years progressed in my life and I found myself abandoning my imaginations, my thoughts of heroism, I still remember the moment when I accepted a new reality at the edge of the pond.

I lost my daughter; I blame myself

xyvkac

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyvkac/i_lost_my_daughter_i_blame_myself/

All that’s left of my daughter is a jagged, bloody hole in her bedroom window, and I think it’s all my fault.  It’s not that I would *ever* have hurt her. No, I would NEVER have hurt my little seven-year-old, Lucy. She was—*IS*—the apple of my eye and the pride of my life. And I believe she’s still out there. But where? And with *whom*? I guess the best thing to do is to start from the beginning. That Saturday was like any other: a mix of chores, fun, and relaxation. We closed it out, as usual, with my Saturday night bedtime story. Although I’d tell Lucy bedtime stories throughout the week, the one on Saturday was generally longer and more involved. That night, as she listened, snuggled up in her comfy blankets, her twinkling eyes staring up at me with an even greater amount of interest than usual, I told her a story of fairies living amongst the rose bushes, and how their babies were born as the flowers bloomed. When I finished, she let out a long, contented sigh and asked, “Even in our garden, Daddy?” I shrugged. “Well, I guess so. I mean, I haven’t seen any, myself, but I suppose they do.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead, and as I recall, she went to sleep that night with a huge smile on her face, surely dreaming of fairies, fairy babies, and garden adventures. The next day, Lucy was up early and on a mission. She gobbled down her breakfast cereal and was soon out in the garden. I was busy with some home repairs, so I didn’t pay much mind to her, but I’d occasionally see her passing by the back window and in good spirits. When she came in, several hours later, she was covered from head to toe with cuts and lacerations. “Brian!” my wife, Janelle, admonished me from the kitchen. “Brian! Look at your daughter! She’s been in the rose bushes out there and she’s bleeding everywhere!” But Lucy didn’t seem to mind. Despite the blood dripping down her forehead, her eyes were bright and her smile was like the moon. “Daddy! I got one! I got a fairy baby!” She wriggled out of her shocked mother’s grasp and showed me what was clutched between her small hands. It was the most foul and disgusting-looking, black beetle I’d ever seen. It seemed to ooze some sort of dark liquid which had stained her palms. “Oh! I don’t think that’s a fairy baby, Lucy,” I said, gently. “I think we should put it back outside.” “NO! NO! NO!” she screamed, snatching her hands away from me. “She’s mine!” Then, before we could stop her, she ran off down the hall to her bedroom. My wife shot me a look that said, *See what you did?* We gave chase, but the “fairy baby” was nowhere to be found by the time we reached the bedroom. “Where is it, Lucy?” I asked, trying to keep calm. “Where did you put it?” Her face was defiant. “I don’t have it! I don’t know where she went and YOU CAN’T HAVE HER!” We turned that room upside down. Janelle hates bugs worse than anything on Earth. It was nowhere to be found. Although Janelle was not sure, I figured it must have gone out through the air ducts or something. We cleaned Lucy up and went about our business. But it wasn’t gone.  There would be times I’d pass her room when I’d hear wings buzzing, softly at first, but the sound grew distinctively louder, as time went on…as if it was growing. However, whenever I’d open the door, the sound would go quiet and I wouldn’t see anything. Sometimes, if Lucy was in there, I’d hear her whispering and giggling as the wings buzzed. When I asked her about it, she’d just say she had been talking to herself.  This went on for weeks. Then, a couple days ago, I was walking by Lucy’s door and I caught sight in her bedroom mirror of a large, black object hovering around by her closet. It seemed to be a good *few feet* in length now. Its insectile face was an abomination to behold; its wings were humming away as it passed to and fro before the closet door.  My first thought was, *That thing is too big for me to squash! I need a gun!* But I don’t keep guns. I carefully closed the door and ran into the garage to look for something, anything, to help. I finally settled on a shovel, but by the time I got back, it was gone.  *Where the hell could something of that size be hiding,* I wondered, all the while expecting to be dive-bombed or attacked from behind. My shovel felt much too small. Again, we picked that room apart, floor to ceiling. Nothing. Not a single thing. Well, that’s not entirely true, as we did find a sizeable puddle of black ooze beneath Lucy’s bed. When Lucy returned home from school, we grilled her with questions about where the thing was living. She insisted that it wasn’t there. No matter how much we bribed or threatened her, she maintained her story. Then last night happened. I awoke in the pitch darkness of my bedroom to the sound of a very loud crashing and breaking noise. At first I thought it came from my bathroom, but then I realized it had come from Lucy’s bedroom. Still unsteady and bleary from sleep, I grabbed the shovel which I still keep beside my bed, and stumbled and groped down the hallway. A cold breeze was wafting from beneath the door, chilling my feet. I threw open the door and… …the jagged, bloody hole was all that remained. I can’t be sure it was that…thing. That bug. And the connection with my story, well, I’m hoping there is no connection. I just want my girl back.

The wind is a living thing, don’t make the mistake I did and try to control it. [PART 1]

xz6qup

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xz6qup/the_wind_is_a_living_thing_dont_make_the_mistake/

Children are a special thing, we often see the world with open, unjudging eyes. We often don’t see danger where others may be wary or cautious. I made that mistake as a child, and now my life is constantly in danger. The wind isn’t just….a thing relating to temperatures or the spin of the earth. It’s alive, and as far as I can tell is capable of emotions, including jealousy and hatred. Do not try to control the wind. You see I was fascinated by the wind. I loved to watch the sky on a windy day and see the different directions the wind took the clouds. The noise of it careening across a field, or through the woods always made me smile. I had thought at one point, on a particularly windy day I could ‘control’ the wind with my arm motions and make it gust to or fro. This was years before that Avatar show aired on Nickelodeon. What I did seemed to work, and I had thought I made a connection with this base element of life. How wrong I was. Let me explain, in the early 00’s as a child around ten, I had a really nice Schwinn bike. I loved to take it around my cul-de-sac, and as I got more adventurous, and my parents loosened the leash I started to explore. There weren’t any big, wooded areas right behind my house, so I had to bike a good distance to find those. Up the street, take a right, then a left at the gas station. This led to this tiny strip mall with all of 4 storefronts, a place that sold Gyros, I think a hair salon and the other two didn’t matter. If you followed around back of this standalone building, the road continued. This road curved slightly then went steeply down into the woods. A winding road where if you weren’t careful on a bike you’d pick up some dangerous speed. The wind blasting you in the face as you screeched the brakes, to lean into the next turn while you flew down this hill. Before you knew it you were at a small parking lot, that was adjacent to a series of tiny ponds you could fish at. On either side left and right you could explore a bike path that went deep into the midwestern woods. On one particularly nice fall afternoon I found myself there, looking around at the trees clad in faded greens, yellows, and some early browns. There were dead leaves already rustling around the asphalt, making that distinct hollow scratching sound as they were dragged about by the whim of the winds. It was familiar, there were a few parked cars, some lazy people in pop up loungers fishing with 2 or 3 rods. The wind picked up and blasted to my left, almost nudging me to bike on the left side trail today. I decided to oblige if for no other reason than a tail wind made it easier to bike. Off I went, the parking lot fading as the black asphalt of the bike trail became the only path forward. The trees swayed and shook as the wind stumbled back to life in occasional gusts, followed by periods of a calm constant stream through the air. I had coined the term “Winds of change” a few years ago cause these winds were the end of summer and heading ever forward to the frigid midwestern winters. After ten or fifteen minutes of biking, all the while the crunch of dead leaves drummed beneath the skinny tires of my bike, I saw something peculiar. Well, mundane in most circumstances but out in the middle of the woods you didn’t see this crop up. It was a little leaf tornado, swirling near a few trees, not 10 feet off the path. Like most of its brethren I’d seen before it seemed to stir to life when the wind began picking up, and then came to a brief tall crescendo maybe 5 feet high during the gusts. I watched with rapt fascination, slowing and stopping to watch this Having seen these around corners of buildings, in the woods it felt…out of place. It didn’t seemingly stop even when the wind had ceased its forceful gusts for seconds or even minuets at a time. A few dozen leaves seemingly refusing to stop swirling near the base. I don’t know what came over me but I called out to it, and make a swirling motion with my fingers as if to stir it up further. This seemed to work, the whipping circling mass sprung back up, I laughed a bit at my perceived control of this force of nature. I walked little closer and picked up some dead twigs, throwing them into the swirling mass. It seemed unperturbed and died down once more. After the wind seemingly revived this whirl, I had a bad idea, as children often do. I picked up a softball sized rock and hucked it as hard as I could into the whirling mass. Another gust shot past, ruffling my already ragged hair, and the whirl sprung back to life, seemingly sustaining for longer than I had ever seen before. I was awestruck as it seemingly spun in place, leaves whipping about in concentric circles, the brown and yellow leaves scratching at each other and the ground around the base. It was then I noticed the quiet, the crows cawing had stopped, the wind was dead flat the tree’s swaying and shaking had abruptly stopped. There was nothing, just the eerie scraping of dead leaves against each other and my own breathing. What happened next should be impossible, my kid brain wasn’t possibly seeing things right. The whirl of leaves seemed to lean forward, the base gliding along the ground picking up new debris as it did so, inches became feet and the strength of the wind started to buffet my jacket and face. For the briefest moment, frozen in time comprised almost entirely of leaves and empty space what appeared to be a malformed face. I heard an unnatural hissing echo from what I thought could be a mouth. I screamed, and flipped my bike one-eighty and ran, hopping mid stride and began peddling as fast as I could. The wind screamed to life out of nowhere and I was fighting the strongest headwind I’d ever felt. I didn’t look back at whatever that whirling monster was, but I didn’t hear it following, though it would be hard to hear anything when the wind is piercing your ears as you ride as fast as you can into it. I managed to climb back up this ridiculously steep winding road back out of the woods and into safety. Panting, lungs on fire as I coasted to a stop and got off my bike. My lunch from school ended up in the gutter from exertion and terror I’m sure. I wiped my mouth, and biked home. I thought that would be the end of it, some children’s hallucinated terror about the leaves. I didn’t have any weird nightmares, everything seemed fine. It, whatever ‘it’ was, is gone. That was, until a week later after school got out for the day. I went outside and unlocked my bike, walking it through the parking lot. The rest of the kids were mostly gone, a few loitering waiting on late parents, or going to the back to play in the playground. I noticed it, in the corner of two walls, another leaf tornado. My heart skipped a beat, but after the wind quieted for several moments the leaves settled. Nothing happened, I watched and waited, before the wind picked up again. This time the little whirl of scraping leaves seemed to focus in on itself, the spinning growing tighter and faster, more uniform. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck spring up and I decided to book it home then and there. For weeks everything returned to normal. I went to school, I played with my friends, and I completely forgot about the “leaf tornado” that was coming after me. I spotted some natural whirls, but they never did anything weird. Soon September turned into late October, and we were approaching Halloween. Being the Midwest, storms are far from uncommon, ‘sever thunderstorms’ could even be considered commonplace. Whipping winds, sheets of rain, maybe the occasional tornado warning siren spooling up. These storms entranced me as much as the wind itself. One evening we got that blaring SAME headers for a severe thunderstorm warning. I was in my room with my TV on, it had been raining and thundering some that night, but continued to grow in intensity. Turning the TV off, and then my light to better see outside I went to my front window and just watched. The rain pelted against the screen and glass of my view into the outside world. Flashes of lightning cloud to cloud, kept the sky looking alive. Though I did look down, and I noticed something in the street, among the two rivers of rainwater headed to the storm drain at the intersection of our road, it was almost cone shaped. A few flashes of lightning told me all I needed to know. It was back, and it was following me. It didn’t seem any larger, it wasn’t flying towards the house, but this unnatural whirl of storm debris was sitting in the middle of our storm soaked street, the noise of the debris it picked up scraping off the road and against itself. I ran to my bed, threw the covers over my head and waited it out. Through out the night when the wind would pick up in a violent gust, I swear I could hear an oddly consistent rustling and banging of twigs and debris against my window. It kept me up most of the night, but sleep did eventually envelope me. There weren’t any tornadoes in the area that night, and our house didn’t suffer any peculiar damage more than our neighbors. In the back of my mind I knew it, whatever this thing was, was out there, waiting for me and it wasn’t leaving me alone. Things only escalated as I grew into an adult, and now I don’t feel safe any time the wind blows, I must subdue a panic attack if there is a storm predicted in my area. I have a hard time renting, so I ended up living the ‘van life’ as they call it. Now I try to do the opposite of storm chasers, I run, and it? It follows.

Indian horror story

xyutlp

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyutlp/indian_horror_story/

Location: Assam, India This takes place around 2018. I am doing a government job and at that time was posted in a rural area near Bhutan border. So, office times were lax and I usually headed back home around 2ish. Since villages usually have flaky electricity supply and I was heavy into gaming at that time, I decided to rent at the nearby town and would commute to office on my motorcycle for around 35 kms. The road was pitched and well maintained but there were no houses around and sparse forest areas for the entirety of around 20 kms till the road merges with the national highway. So, coming to that eventful afternoon, I was riding back home at around 3 PM and had covered around half the way. The roads were usually vacant with a rare car overtaking you or a man with his cattle. So, your peripheral vision tends to be very active and if you spot someone or something, you look. Here I see this lady, in tribal garb , walking on my side of the road. Around 30ish, I would assume. When I overtake, I look in my rear mirror to see her face. Surprise, surprise, nobody there. I stop my bike. Big mistake. But in my mind, this was a spooky adventure and in broad daylight, mind you, so rather than getting afraid, I decide to investigate. The area was mostly bamboo trees with no houses on either side, so it was not possible for her to get off the road and be somewhere. So, after a few seconds of looking, I take a leak and head back home. The rest of the evening is spent playing games and eating dinner. Nothing unusual. I go to bed around 1AM. At around 3AM, I suddenly wake up with an intense feeling of dread. I open my eyes but cannot move my body. Sleep paralysis, I think. I have had similar attacks quite a few times before so I know how to deal with it. I do not try to move my body, I just close my eyes and wait for it to end. Suddenly I find myself being embraced from behind by cold hands. I can feel the coldness radiate through my body. Now I feel nervous. I have never seen apparitions or felt any presence in my previous sleep paralysis bouts. I nervously squeak "Who's there?". After a few seconds, I hear a female voice, not harsh, but sweet and melodious "You don't know me. What will you do with my name?". I am seriously a mess at this point. I croak out "Please leave me alone." She says "I am not leaving you. I will be with you forever." I manage a "Why?" and the answer is "Because you were looking for me." I don't know when I slept. The next day, I came down with a high fever and decided to skip office. That day I was a wreck of nerves. I was afraid to sleep alone. I was alone in a new town and my parents were in a different end of the state, so asking them to come down was not a feasible question. That night, same situation, I feel the embrace again. But this time I pretend like I do not feel anything. I lay still and feverishly pray. I hear the voice "Do you not like me?". I do not reply. The voice repeats "Do you not like me? My husband did not want me, so he killed me. Go to X village and ask (Said village is a small habitation, around 15-20 homes and a tea/grocery shop nearly 3 kms from the place first mentioned). I will never leave you now." I do not know when I went to sleep. Next morning, I get ready to go to office. Today, I need to get to the bottom of this mystery. I reach office and confide in my attendant, let's call him Ram (he was a local of the place). So, Ram and I head off to this place on my bike. We head for the tea shop and strike up a conversation with the owner. Chatty fellow. He tells Ram in their local language that the wife of a woodcutter who stayed there was found mysteriously dead by hanging a few days back. Local authorities declared it a suicide but the info was that the couple were constantly fighting and overall it was an unhappy marriage. Reasons, the lady did not conceive after 5 years of marriage. The husband was obviously grieving and stuff, but tongues were wagging about how he had done off with his wife. I now knew what I needed to know. Ram takes me to a local tantrik who asks me to narrate everything in detail. I spill all the beans. He says I was a fool to stop there and God was with me that I was not dead in these two days. According to him, people who get their lives snuffed out are usually malevolent after their deaths. They do not know right from wrong and vent out their anger on any poor soul who happens to cross their path. Ans silly me had to pee there of all places. He performs a puja for me and gives me the ashes. He said spread these on your entrance and near your bed and do not clean them off for seven days. He takes only 20 bucks from me as payment. I do what I am told and that was the last time I was bothered by this entity. To conclude, the logical mind would assume sleep paralysis and my colored mind to be the reason for this experience. I would beg to differ for a few reasons. First, I am not sure you have a coherent conversation during sleep paralysis. Some people do see things but the way she talked to me and narrated the place of her death does raise questions. Secondly, I have never had sleep paralysis for two nights continuously in my life. Thirdly, at the first instance when I saw her on the road, how could she disappear in a split second with no place to be or hide for a few miles. I feel that this experience have opened my eyes and broadened my horizon. I am no longer a naysayer. There are indeed some things which we may never know about for certain but which will continue to elude us and sometimes give us a small peek into their existence.

Camping with friends, and something else

xywicu

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https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xywicu/camping_with_friends_and_something_else/

No one believes me when I try to tell them what happened last weekend, not the police, not my friends, not even my parents. The thing we met in those woods followed me home and I don’t know how long I have left before it takes me as well. I have to tell someone what happened during last weekend's camping trip. It was winter break for my community college and I along with few friends decided we were going to go on a camping trip before we all went home to our families for the extended break. The group consisted of me, Kyle, George, and Tony. We all became friends through courses we took together and I have to say that they made college more exciting. We had big plans for this weekend since it would be about a month before we saw each other again. We planned on leaving around lunch and heading to the Nantahala National Forest where we would be camping. It was about an hour's drive from where we were so nothing too crazy. After a few days of scrounging around for supplies, we finally had everything we thought we might need. Then the day finally arrived. We set out around lunch so that we could have everything set up by mid-afternoon and be able to hike out to a waterfall Kyle said he had been to once before. After around an hour, give or take, we finally arrived at the campground and had began to set up the two tents we brought with us. I remember it took longer than we had planned because George and Tony had never been camping before so it was up to me and Kyle to get everything set up. It was hard work, but soon enough we had our campsite up and running. “Hey you guys,” Kyle said with the surplus energy he always had, “Ready to go seewhat this place has to offer!” “You don’t ever get tired do you Kyle,” George let out a sarcastic remark. “It will be worth it, I swear, just hurry up so we can make it back before dark.” With that, we set off. Around an hour later, with leg muscles threatening to cramp at any moment, we finally reached the waterfall. It was a sight to see I won’t lie to you. There were two large boulders at the top and the waterfall lead down into this almost crystal clear pool where it slowly trailed back down the base of the mountain. The pool was so clear we could even pick the few fish that had made this place their home. We had brought a few snacks with us so we all sat down and ate for a while. We were finishing up our food when we heard what sounded like large branches being snapped. It was like a bulldozer trying to make its way down the mountain. Then this animalistic cry that shook my bones came from past the top of the waterfall somewhere hidden within the dense foliage. All of us stood up wide eyed and were looking around trying to find the source of the scene that was playing out somewhere within the woods. “I think it’s about time we head back down,” Tony said while frantically putting on his backpack. Kyle looked over to him, “Guys, where’s George?” We all were panicking by this point looking trying to find out what had happened to George. He was there one second and gone the next. After around thirty minutes of searching and calling out into the never-ending greenery that surrounded us. We tried calling jis cellphone, but it wouldn’t connect because of the poor service on the mountain. By this point I had noticed that the sun was setting and it was going to be dark soon. “Let’s start heading back guys,” I looked to my two friends that remained, “There is a park ranger office not too far from our campsite. We need to tell them what happened so they can send help.” “We can’t leave George out here,” Kyle responded. “If we haven’t found him yet, we are just going to have an even harder time when it gets dark. All we have to guide us is the light from our cell phones.” “Cam is right Kyle,” Tony said defending my claim, “We will go tell the park rangers and come back with them to help search for him.” “All right,” Kyle relented, “Let’s hurry up so we can get back and find him.” We finally started our way back down the mountain. The sun was setting and we knew we wouldn’t make it back to the ranger cabin until after dark. We walked as fast as we could down the rough trail that had guided us. That’s when we heard more branches snapping in the distance. We all froze and stared off for what felt like an eternity. We still didn’t find whatever caused the disturbance and continued down the mountain. It was probably five or ten minutes before the sun fully set and darkness would overtake the mountain when we heard its cry again. This time though, it was much closer. “Stay close guys, we don’t need anyone else getting lost before we get off this trail,” I said to the two next to me with a false sense of confidence. “What is following us,” Tony said and I could hear the fear in his voice, “Do you think that whatever it is got George?” “Let’s just hurry up Tony, right now we need to focus getting off this mountain,” Kyle said while beginning to move once again down the path, “I swear I am never camping for good after this.” Me and Tony both followed suit close behind him. We walked on pins and needles for the next few minutes with all of our concentration on our surroundings. At this point, we had to retrieve the flashlights Tony had in his bag to see where we were headed because it was now dark on the mountain. That’s when we came around a sharp curve in the trail and found ourselves face to face with a tree that was now obstructing our path to safety. It was a decent sized oak tree that looked like it had been ripped straight out of the ground with roots still attached and everything. It also had branches protruding in all directions that obstructed our view past it. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “It looks like there is enough space for us to crawl under.” Kyle said while leaning down to check the space from the tree to the ground. “There is no way I am doing that,” Tony said, “That thing is gonna collapse on me as soon as I try to go under.” “There is no other way around Tony,” I say while putting my hand on his shoulder for reassurance, “Me and Kyle will go through first so you can see that it’s secure enough.” “All right, let's get a move on,” Kyle said as he began making his way under the tree. Kyle made it through and gave us the all-clear. I looked back to Tony and gave him a thumbs up and went under the tree as well. While I was making my way I looked at the trunk of the tree and noticed claw marks wrapped around the trunk as if something carried it. This made the hairs on my neck stand on end. At last I finally made my way through and we both stood waiting for Tony. “Tony, you coming or what,” Kyle called out. There was no response. “Come on Tony, we gotta hurry up so we can get help,” I added with unease mounting. That’s when from off in the distance we heard screaming. It was Tony. Whatever was following us down the mountain had placed that tree there so it could take my friend. The screaming lasted for what felt like an eternity that was followed by pleas for his life. “PLEASE! HELP M…,” and just like that the forest was returned to deafening silence. We both just ran. I was running, branches flying in my face, narrowly catching myself from falling over due to exposed roots. I wanted nothing more than to reach the bottom of this mountain and see the light of the ranger's office. After what felt like forever I finally saw lights, I was so overjoyed I nearly cried. “Hurry up Kyle, we're alm….” There was no sign of him. He was just gone. While running I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than getting off that mountain as soon as possible. I hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t behind me. I began walking up to the office in a daze. I had scrapes and bruises covering nearly every bit of exposed skin on my body. Finally noticing the park rangers coming out of the cabin I just stopped and froze. They walked over to me and took me to the porch to explain what had happened. I told them the whole story of the events that had played out and they decided to call the police to help with the search party they were trying to pull together to find my friends. “Hey Cam.” I looked over and it was him. George was standing right there. He looked perfectly fine like nothing had even happened. “Where did you go man, we were looking everywhere for you. I thought whatever was out there got you too,” I said as I bounded off the porch and gave my now only friend a hug. At this point, I had no clue something was amiss. I was just happy that I wasn’t the only one left. When I hugged him he stayed stiff as a board, he didn’t even look bothered at the events that were playing out. I backed off from him and noticed his lips slowly curling up into a grin. This smile he made stretched a little farther than it should have to the point where I thought his mouth would rip. That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks. This was not George. It was the thing that took him. I screamed and yelled to anyone that would listen that it wasn’t my friend but they all just looked at me like I was crazy. That’s when the police showed up and questioned both of us about what had happened. They saw nothing wrong with George’s story even though I kept telling them that it wasn’t him. They all just assumed that I was in shock from losing my friends. They cleared us both and as dawn was breaking the next morning I was on my way home. I refused to leave with “George” so one of the police had to take him back to our community college. I made sure to get home and grab what little I needed so I could leave as soon as possible. On my way out I looked to see him standing at the front of my dormitory. “George” had that same smile stretched across his face. I feel like he is just tormenting me with the knowledge that all my friends are dead and the culprit is standing right in front of me. “Have a safe trip home,” It said with a voice that sounded almost human but carried an animalistic undertone that sent chills up my spine. It has been three days now. The search party that went in search of my friends haven’t found anything except for one of Kyle's hiking boots which was now painted a crimson color from the fluid that once gave him life. There was no trace of Tony and I knew that they probably wouldn’t find any. The main reason I am trying to get this story out there is because last night while looking out my bedroom window, it was there. “George” was standing on the edge of the sidewalk with that same god-awful smile. He was standing right at the edge of what the streetlamp illuminated and it cast an eerie shadow over it and illuminated this thing's eyes that were reflecting in a way that only an animal would. I know I don’t have much time left before I become food for whatever that creature is. I managed to lose so much in what was supposed to be a fun weekend with friends. “George” is outside again tonight. I know my time is almost up so let me finish with this warning. Don’t go camping in Nantahala National Forest, something might follow you home.

A wall of fog rolled across North America in 1993

xy9ipu

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https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy9ipu/a_wall_of_fog_rolled_across_north_america_in_1993/

Document notes: This account arrived in my PO Box as a diary. Purple cover with glitter, spiral bound, ruled on both sides of each page. It seems like it must have lain face-down in water for some time as a majority of the pages leading up to the relevant passages are almost completely illegible—of those that survived, I’d say they contained “normal” day-to-day diary entries. “here’s what I had for lunch, the cow kicked over the milk pail again, school sucked but the boy I liked looked at me.” Some song lyrics and doodles. I haven’t the time or the heart to read out the non-relevant passages. It’s just some young persons' diary, maybe thirteen to fifteen years old, likely a girl, living on a farm with her small family. The account follows. ​ ​ "November 2, 1993 Day 1 We heard the sirens today right after breakfast. I never heard Dad swear so loud but Mom was too busy wiping the oatmeal off Baby Jay’s face and hauling him outta his highchair to tisk-tisk him. Everything we needed was already down in the old cold cellar. I had helped Mom make beef tallow emergency candles and Dad to clear spaces down there for us to live and sleep. Dad cooked up some flour and soot paint to cover the two little windows we had down there before piling field stones against them. He filled any chinks in the doorframe with painty rags and nailed spare lumber over the gaps. Mom brought down all the spare bedding we had to make us some beds—it would be rough without mattresses, she said, but I think we have enough old duvets to make it pretty cozy. I carefully stacked our canned food, store bought and homemade, on one side of the cellar while Dad dug us a toilet in a little back room. He dug it after covering the window in there with paint and rocks so he had to dig by the light of one of Moms tallow candles, making the whole cellar smell beefy.  The cellar actually looked pretty nice after we had finished with it. We had time to make it more homey and to fill any gaps in the weeks before the fog wall would hit so we hung a nice tablecloth on one side and made a dinner table with an old door from the lumber pile. I got some stuffed animals down from my closet upstairs and lined our sleeping spot with them too. Baby Jay got a wash basin as a bed and I painted flowers on the sides with the rest of Dad’s black paint. They didn’t look very good but Mom says it’s the thought that counts. So the hurricane siren went off and Dad swore and Mom got Baby Jay up out of his highchair to get him downstairs. I asked Mom if I could get my diary, had to ask her twice actually with how fussy Baby Jay had gotten-- anyway, she said yeah but "hurry up, for god’s sake." Dad had snapped on the radio and tuned it to 95.5 fm to see what was going on. I paused a little when he did, but Mom shooed me up the stairs to grab you, diary, before I could hear more than a few excited-sounding words. I checked my window after grabbing you and I could see the fog wall from where I was on the second floor. It didn’t really look special, except that it stretched from one side of the horizon to the other in one grey smudgy line, like looking at a far-off rainstorm. I saw Dad from the window too, he was jogging to the barn to fill the animals' troughs with as much food as water as we had and to turn on their nightlight—he spent a lot of time last week cleaning some old car batteries and hooking them up to a lightbulb so the animals wouldn’t go crazy in the dark. I’m really glad he did. Twelve days in darkness sounds like a nightmare. I gave the fog wall one long last look. It was such a nothing. Before all the stores closed, I heard some customers and salesfolks talking big about how it was some big overblown hoax and that they’d stay upside when or IF it came. Looking at the wall I shivered a bit. I hope those people changed their minds. Heck I heard that you could survive the wall just by hanging your thickest blankets against the windows and hiding in a closet. No light allowed. I really hope that’s true. I really hope they changed their minds. We got downstairs quick. Once Dad locked the door we all sat quiet for a little while, listening to the radio. Big Steve was going through all the preparations we should have done in the last week and we all listened anxiously, but we had prepared exactly as he and the government had said and maybe a little more. Baby Jay had fallen asleep in my lap but after maybe half an hour he woke up and got scared of the dark. Mom started singing and bouncing him on her knee while me and Dad started looking through boardgames to play. We pointed one of the two wind-up emergency flashlights against a jar of water to make a better boardgaming light and played a few games of scrabble. ​ The wall hit just before dinner. We’re pretty much gonna have to eat cold canned stuff because Mom says the smoke from a gas grill or even more than one candle at a time will get dangerous really quick. I was finishing opening a can of creamed corn  when Big Steve on the radio started sounding excited. Dad had told me the radio station was about parallel to us so when they went into the wall we’d be in really soon after. We had gone out a few weeks ago to paper the whole station up--Big Steve had hosted a Big Hot Dog Grill to get the town out to help him make it all sight safe. Dad helped sledge down a man-sized hole in one wall so Big Steve could get to the emergency generator shed without having to go outside. Anyway, Big Steve said the security camera on the east side just passed into the wall. He said it got really staticky and that we might get some interruptions while the rest of the tower went in. It did get staticky for a few minutes, then it went straight into white noise for a few more—but that’s when we heard the fog wall rolling at and over us. Me and Baby Jay sat on the bedding while Mom and Dad waited tensely with our stash of cardboard and tape. We turned out all the lights and I assumed they were looking around everywhere while the wall rolled over us to see if any last-minute light was coming in. Soon we heard this low sucking sound from upside, getting closer and closer  until it was right over us. It was pretty scary at first, almost like a few years ago when we had a tornado nearly pass over us and we had to spend the night down here. It got really quiet after that. Then the DJ came back on the radio, a little more staticky but not too bad. He was broadcasting to the whole town he said, the town in the fog vortex, and we were all a big family now and here’s a tune to keep us cheerful while we braved this funny little weather phenomenon. He sounded really happy. He sounded like how you do just before you go on stage? Nervous, but you don’t want people to know you're kinda freaking out. Mom and Dad eventually turned the lights back on when they were sure no light from outside was coming in and we ate dinner to Big Steve playing music on the radio. He ate dinner live on air too. He said he'd keep broadcasting as long as he could through the 12 days we’d be in the wall. After we all took turns winding the radio and our flashlights. Now Mom and Dad are sitting and holding hands and listening to the radio while I write in you. Gonna go to bed soon but I think I’ll be awake for a long time listening to the fog. ​ ​ Day 2 Mom  brought an alarm clock down so we wouldn’t lose track of time. She set it to ring at 8am every day and we’re keeping count by making lines on a support beam with a piece of chalk. Me and her thought it was a little funny when we set it up, like we were all doing time in jail.  The toilet smells like how I bet a jail toilet smells. It’s already making it pretty gross down here but Dad made some extra ventilation ahead of time so he says it shouldn't get too bad, or at least it wont get dangerous. Did you know a smelly toilet could kill you? Like how too many candles or a gas leak can kill you I guess. I kept my head leaning towards one of the ventilation tubes while I used the can and I think I got a breath of air from above but I’m not sure, I didn’t want to breathe too deeply. The government said the air wasn’t what was so dangerous about the fog wall. It was just normal air. Other than that today was pretty boring. We sat around the light and read or play boardgames. We nap when we feel like it and listen to the radio. The music is nice. Big Steve is as cheerful as ever. Baby Jay isn’t allowed on the dirt floor but we let him play around on the bed. I’m glad he likes all my stuffed animals. Mom and Dad opened a bottle of wine and let me have a little. I think it made my head feel  light but I don’t like the taste—too bitter! They cheered up a little though so the evening was more fun and they actually got to laughing while we played Trivial Pursuit. I thought about the cows and chickens in the barn. I hoped their light was still on.  ​ ​ Day 2 ½ I’m creeped out. It’s night I guess, at least it’s a few hours after we all decided to go to bed but I’m the only one awake. I had to get up to use the toilet. It’s cold tonight though and my stomach was hurting a bit so I took the radio into the bathroom and turned it on really low while I sat on the toilet—it's just a bucket with the bottom cut out and some planks across it, set across the hole Dad dug. We have another bucket of spare dirt beside us to scoop into the toilet when we’re done to keep the smell down.  I had the radio on super low and pressed to one ear while I sat. Some music was on for a while but soon Big Steve comes back on air but he’s sounding a little different. Quieter, not like I have the volume down quieter but like he’s almost whispering into the microphone quieter.  He says “welcome back, ladies and gents, welcome back to the town in the fog wall. We got a new one here for you tonight. I got up to take a trip down to the little boys room—thank god for septic tanks, can I get an amen—and I took a peek at our security cameras while I did, as I’m want to do. Now there isn’t much to look at out there in the fog wall most of the time, y’all aint missing much—*its fog!--* but I'll be damned if I didn’t catch a little bit of movement out there in the west parking lot. We got a little LED light hooked up out there, not much of a power draw and it’s good to have a light on in the night in case any raccoons feel like ransacking the place. But tonight I did not see a raccoon. I saw...” Big Steve trailed off there for a sec. “... well, family, I don’t quite know what I saw. It was big, but not like an elephant big. Like it wasn’t *solid* or *thick*. It looked kinda like a hairball blew across the camera lens truth be told, and that might have very well been what it was, all fuzzy 'n outta focus and lookin to be carried on a breeze from out yonder.”  He paused again. “Wish Sunday Sue decided to stay up here so I could get a second opinion, but she drove out on Monday to keep an eye on her family. Sunday Sue, if you're out there I hope you’re doing fine and well. I’m good up here. But an old man does miss his cohost.” He chuckled. “Okay folks, sorry to creep you in the middle of the night. As penitence I’ll drag out some Carpenters to keep us in the long hours and I’ll get back to some good old-fashioned shut eye.”  Guitar music started playing. I stayed on the toilet until my butt hurt but it seemed like Big Steve really did go to bed. So I went back to bed, too—but I kept the radio on close to my ear as I lay here. I tried to listen above me for sounds in the fog and I wrote in this diary. ​ ​ Day 4 I was still feeling a little sick yesterday so I mostly stayed on the bed and read some books. Mom and Dad thought the wine might have upset my stomach. I think the toilet smell is getting to me. It smells so gross that I try to eat and drink less so I don’t have to use it. Dad had hung air fresheners after digging the toilet hole but they don’t do much unless you hold them against your nose. I’m breathing through my mouth mostly now and luckily I have a ventilation pipe near my side of the bed. I think I can smell fresh air through it, cool and a little damp. I felt better today so Mom sat me down with my math textbook and we worked on some problems. She’s really good at trig but I can’t stand it. I can get it when it’s being explained to me—everything she says makes sense when she goes through all the steps—but once she hands me a new equation and asks me to solve it all flies away. She wants me to go to University but I don’t even know what I want to study. I like English, but she says that if I want to get an English major I might as well get into trades and be a plumber or something instead. If I was a plumber maybe I could figure out a better toilet. ​ ​ Day 4 ½ Can’t sleep. Sounds above us. We started hearing it as we were getting ready for bed. Mom and me were shaking out the bed linens when Dad shushed us. He was standing near the door with his head cocked upwards. He looked whiter than the sheets. We stopped and listened too. First there was nothing. Every once in a while for the past four days we’d hear the familiar sound of cows lowing from the barn. They’d gone quiet too, like they were listening with us. Then I heard it. A sound like someone sweeping the floor with a straw broom, coming out of the fog very slowly towards our hiding place. The radio was already on quiet but Mom dropped her corner of the blanket we were holding and snapped the radio off. We let absolute silence fill the pantry as whatever it was passed over us. When it groaned I almost screamed out loud. I actually clapped both hands over my mouth. Mom and Dad didn’t so much as look at me. Baby Jay kept sleeping, thank god. The groan warbled on above us, louder and louder, but still not much above a whisper, following the side of the house. Eventually it peaked right above us. Mom threw a hand out to me and I gripped it silently. I can’t remember the last time I held her hand. Baby Jay, though, shifted in his washbasin bed and started fussing. Mom let me go immediately to pick him up and started rocking him gently, sparing a few terrified glances up as she did. I think I heard the barest pause in the strange sweeping footsteps above us but the groan remained unbroken. It was finally moving away. Baby Jay had fallen back asleep. We all stood like that for minutes after, all staring at the ceiling. After we were certain it was gone we shared a silent group hug. Then we all went to bed and all lay in the quiet with the radio turned off. ​ They came back, though. Or more moved through. Mom and Dad and Baby Jay are asleep again and I’m up listening to what sounds like a whole herd of brooms walking along above us, every once in a while letting out one of those terrible drawn-out moans. It’s so quiet but it’s there. I tried to hold it but eventually I had to get up and pee. I took the radio and turned it on so quiet that for a few moments I thought it was still muted. I sat on the can and listened. Then Big Steve came on, whispering, and I realized he must have been listening too. “There goes another one,” he breathed just above the faint static. “Folks, I think we’re in a herd of these things. Now hold on one second.” There was the sound of a chair shifting. Then Big Steve's voice came from further away, in a stage-whisper. “God, if that isn’t the spookiest thing I’ve ever seen.” A very long pause, the sound of him sitting down again. “Sorry folks, the cameras are on the outside of my booth and I gotta really stretch my mic cord to be able to see ‘em, and that’s still from ten feet away. Kinda wish I hadn’t gotten up to take a closer look because they are capital C creepy.” Sound of him sipping water, clearing his throat. Another pause and he comes back even quieter.  “They just drift, really. Their... their feet? Barely touch the ground. They must be so light. National tv says they do something to the security tapes and sure enough after seeing that first one the other night I checked the tape and it was all messed up, static, blue screen, flickers, the whole shebang. Like I had run it through the wash with my biggest electromagnets. But the live feed still comes in pretty good. For now at least.” I think I sat on the toilet for another half an hour, barely noticing the stink and just listening to Big Steve describe the things moving around above us. They shifted and groaned as he thought out loud about where the fog wall came from and what the strange creatures moving within it were. I had seen plenty of TV show hosts and experts talk about this. Some people said aliens. More said they were people who got changed when they looked into the fog. The programs usually had a drawing from a survivor who had seen one through a security camera like Big Steve. It always looked like a tangled mat of yarn, usually with a big question mark pasted over it by the tv station. They said the things didn’t ever try to break in or anything but I knew Dad had brought down his shotgun and kept it tucked under the pile of quilts we used as a mattress on his side. When I finally got up and finished my business my legs were all pins and needles. I tried to shake feeling back into them while taking a few deep breaths of the fresh air streaming in from the ventilation pipe beside the can. The way the cellar worked had the pipe coming out at about head-level for me so I could just stand and let the air wash over me. Cool and damp. The pins and needles faded and I closed my eyes for a second, thinking about being back up there in broad daylight and crisp, near frigid November air. I stopped breathing when a brushing footstep and a groan echoed from what sounded like within the pipe. The sound came in so clearly it was like I was standing outside with them. I felt my hands grip the radio tightly. The groan got louder. It got louder and closer, like whatever was making it was pushing its head down the pipe. I finally managed to move a few steps back but I was staring at the end of pipe and couldn’t look away. Deep in it’s mouth I thought I saw the faintest pulse of light. It seemed to beat steadily for a few moments before fading to nothing along with the groan. A pause, then the sound of sweeping footsteps moving away. I stood with my back against the rough stone wall that separated the toilet from the main room. I stared into the now pitch-black pipe and started to shiver all over. I went back to bed and lay with my flashlight and radio on and wrote in my diary. The light is just about out now. I don’t want to make noise by winding it. The radio is already dead. I’ll try to sleep. ​ ​ Day 5 Mom and Dad heard Big Steve talking about the things in the fog today. He repeated his story about them sweeping in during the night again and again and they seemed to get more and more upset every time he did. Big Steve, though, he sounded more and more... I dunno, comfortable—every time he told the story.  I’ve decided not to tell Mom and Dad about what I thought I saw last night. I think I was just really creeped out by the sounds and the radio. There’s no light inside the pipe today, I checked, and we haven’t heard anything move above since last night. The cows are even back to mooing every so often. I hope they’re still doing well. They sound pretty fine to me.  More boardgames, more napping, more studying. We’re doing biology today and learning about photosynthesis. I thought I had a pretty good idea of how it worked but it turns out there’s a whole dark reaction part of it that even Mom has to take time to read to herself to understand. She was a geologist before having me and marrying Dad though so at least she can understand a lot of the chemistry stuff. It’s weird, I didn’t know much about what Mom was doing before she had me. She never really talked about it before but during a homework break she told me a few stories about her field work in the Yukon before she married Dad. It’s kinda nice. Maybe after all this we’ll be a little closer. ​ ​ Day 6 Halfway done!! It’s been so boring. No light from the pipe today, didn’t hear anything last night. Still smells here. Dad joked that once we’re out of here we’re gonna burn all the clothes and linens out back because the smell has gotten into them so much. We’re getting really restless so we played charades all afternoon to try to tire us out and Mom “made” a special dessert for after dinner. It was just cherry pie filling with crushed graham crackers on top but it was really good anyway. I like how you get a burst of juice when you bite into a cherry. We’ve been eating straight out of cans, passing it around with a spoon and taking bites because we can’t really clean our dishes. We keep the old cans and jars in a garbage bag in the bathroom so at least the smell is kept all in one spot. We tried lighting a candle near the main rooms ventilation pipe to force a draft but I don’t think it made a difference. Tomorrow we’ll be over the hump and there’ll only be five days left. ​ ​ Day 6 ½ Still no light from the pipe, no sounds above us. Big Steve is back on though. He’s been counting how many move past his east-facing camera. So far he’s at 51 tonight. ​ ​ Day 7 Another boring day. I know we’re on the downslope but it sucks so bad down here. I don’t know what I’ll do first when I get back upside—probably check on the animals with Dad. We’ll open the doors and let them get any last little bit of grass from the fields. I’m gonna kiss each cow on the nose and hug each chicken. None of the cows need milking thank goodness, though there’ll probably be some eggs that are on their way to becoming baby chicks! They have to stay in their eggs for longer than us, poor little guys. I hope Dad lets us keep them. ​ ​ Day 7 ½ They’re moving above us again. It’s very late. I don’t know how Mom and Dad can stay asleep through the moans and footsteps. Stupid that I have to keep getting up to pee. I’m trying to stay under the covers for as long as I can but I gotta go. Be back. Taking the radio. There’s light inside the pipe again. I was doing my usual thing and went to get my breath of fresh air when I saw it. I covered it up with my sweater straight away. Big Steve was on the radio. I listened while I watched the pipe. “To those just tuning in, I made, uh, some minor miscalculations with the gas when we were settin’ up the place. I’m keepin’ everything but the radio equipment off. I’ve redone the arithmetic and we should have enough to get us through to the last day if I take nights off, but for this evening I’m feelin’ mighty lonely so we’ll stay on. Can’t see anything outside of course with the security cameras off but I think I’ve heard some of them pass when I was down takin a leak. Er, using the facilities. Nothing comes through the soundproofing up here in the booth of course.” He stopped to clear his throat. The sound of shuffling papers, and then gruffly, “how bout some music.”  He put on one of my favorites, *Stargazing* by Pondworks. It’s a low and slow one. There’s some violin. It always makes me kinda sad. Afterwards it wound down into silence and only after a while did Big Steve come back on, speaking quietly. “Sometimes they’ll touch each other. Just barely. Brushin’ fingertips, like. And when they do their movement will kinda sync up and they’ll sway together. It’s hypnotizing, like watching wind pass over a sea of wheat.” Another long pause. Another song played. I watched the pipe. Another song. Then Steve came back on again. “Alright, folks, I think that’ll wrap it up for tonight. I’ll power down for a few hours and see you bright and early tomorrow morning for some more music. Big Steve, signing off.” ​ ​ Day 8 Big Steve barely came on the radio to speak today. It was mostly music. I don’t think Mom and Dad noticed. They didn’t notice when I started taking longer and longer bathroom breaks either. More biology lessons. Haven’t heard the cows low in a while. ​ ​ Day 9 Big Steve wasn’t on the radio today. No music, just static. Mom and Dad seemed worried. Very quiet in the shelter. Kept checking pipe. ​ ​ Day 9 ½ He’s doing nights! We kept the radio on low all evening and after dinner he finally comes on, cheerful as can be.  “GOOOOD MORNING,” he boomed. His intro sound effects played: a horse whinny, a revving motor and honking horn, “Welcome back to 95.5 the BEAR FM, I’m your host Big Steve and I am broadcasting to all my good friends and family here in the valley. We have a hell of a mixtape for you today if you’d pardon my french, so let’s get this rock rollin’!” We all stayed up late listening to the music. Mom said he must have slept in or felt under the weather during the day. I think so too. I’m really glad he’s back. I didn’t want to guard the pipe without my DJ.  The light in the pipe is still so weak I have to keep it uncovered so I can make sure it doesn’t get brighter. Lots of rustling and groaning outside, Mom and Dad and Baby Jay don’t wake up though. Big Steve comes on to talk about them up above. “Remember when the fog first rolled outta the Atlantic? Scary. Scary, scary, scary. All those people living on the coast didn’t know how to hide from the light. Can’t remember the number of disappearances. Musta been millions—whatever the population of newfoundland was. Everybody thought they were vaporized or somesuch at first, like the fog was an acid. And you know, maybe something about that’s true—but I think we nailed it second try when we started thinking that those things walking around out there *were* all those missing people.” Pause. I leaned in closer to the light. I breathed in the air from above. “I’m glad they’re out there together. Disappearing all alone is one thing. Disappearing while holding the hand of your wife or kid is another. We should all be so lucky.” No more radio for that night. No music either. The light pulsed in the pipe. After a long time standing and staring at it I noticed that the concrete the tube was set in looked like it was flaking off in places. I poked at it and a large piece fell away, showing the hasty gravel and rock wall Dad had balanced the pipe in before slapping it with a concrete slurry. I remembered it had rained the day he had installed the ventilation. I started picking at it, throwing the spare pieces in the toilet as I went. I had dug a fair bit into the wall when I heard one of my parents shift around in bed in the other room. I stood still and waited for it to come again. It did so I decided to get out of there. The hole I’d made was on the far side of the pipe and more or less invisible to anyone coming in and using the toilet. I threw the last piece into the toilet and tossed in some of the dirt from the bucket after it. I went to bed.  ​ ​ Day 10 ½  Mom and Dad stayed up late again to listen to the radio. Big Steve hadn’t come on. The music snapped on some time after dinner, already in the middle of a song. Mom and Dad exchanged a look but they kept listening for hours. Had to wait a long time to go guard the tube. This time I took a table knife. We weren’t using them at all to eat out of our cans so I knew it wouldn’t be missed. I started back to work on the hole in the wall. Before long one last piece of concrete on the other side of the head-height hole fell away and a shaft of orange light flowed into the bathroom. I dropped the knife to the ground and pressed my face against the hole. I let the fresh air wash over me. Outside was totally silent, draped in a fog that obscured the sight of the fence around our property only a few dozen meters away. I sat there and bathed in the night air and glow from the fog. After a while the music that was playing quietly over the radio switched off and I could hear the sound of Big Steve breathing on the other end. It was like we both sat there in silence, looking out into the night, waiting. We didn’t have to wait for too long. A faint brushing sound soon rose out of the fog. I held my breath and pressed my other eye to the hole to try to see around the corner of the house. Big Steve also seemed to hold his breath. After an indeterminable moment one of the walkers in the fog drifted around the corner and I saw it in full view. “Just beautiful,” Big Steve breathed. I sighed in agreement. It was taller than a man but walked almost like one. It had two legs and two arms, anyway, frayed things that drifted up and away from what I supposed were shoulders—equally loose tangles of what Steve had described as yarn—and two legs that barely brushed along the ground to move it along. It had a head, again looking like a loose handful of hair pulled off a brush, and a chest that all of that attached to. It looked like something familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Its core glowed with the same orange light of the fog, only a little brighter. It seemed to swim along the side of our house with one... one hand?.. ...whispering across the siding. When it came close, I realized what it looked like—I had been paging through my biology textbook a few days ago and ended up on a two-page spread showing the human cardiovascular system. Fluffly clouds of veins and thicker highways of major arteries jammed into a humanoid silhouette. That’s what these things looked like, only if they had spread out a lot to drift more freely in the fog. It was beautiful. I felt pressure rise in my chest as it drew closer along the house. It dropped out of sight momentarily as it approached the 90-degree angle where the house met the cellar door, its low wall, and my little hole. It re-appeared only a foot away from my face, floating serenely on the tips of its feet. I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until I let it out in one gust. I saw it move the dark orange capillaries of its nearest leg and the creature stopped slowly and turned to face the gap. I instinctively drew back a little. Something I could call a hand meandered down from somewhere above unseen, tiny thread-like tips questing along the sides of the hole. I watched it. I felt like I was floating. I heard Big Steve murmur “they’re us. Just more connected to the world. Maybe they’re connected to another one too. Another world in the fog.” A thread of orange capillary brushed one of my cheeks like a spiderweb. A comforting warmth grew from that spot and radiated out into by body. It felt like being *seen*. Being *understood.* I heard Big Steves voice now not from the radio but from what seemed to be just over my shoulder. “Yesterday I took the sledgehammer from downstairs and opened up the side of the studio wall with it. They’re all lined up in the parking lot and swaying like seaweed in the tide.” I’m not sure how long I stood there in the light. By the time I came back the creature was gone and I felt very, very tired. I went back to bed. Wrote everything down. Tired. ​ ​ Day 11 Mom and Dad and Baby Jay found the hole while I was sleeping. I got up and they were all packed into the bathroom and staring out at a sea of the creatures. It looked like they had even widened it a bit so we had a space around the size of a teacup saucer to bathe in. The fresh air and the view was so nice but Mom and Dad got so close to the hole I could only see it a little. Still so tired. Brought the radio and my diary into the bathroom to listen and watch and write. It doesn’t even smell bad in here anymore and Baby Jay’s thoughts are so relaxing, all wrapped up in his blankie and held Mom’s arms like he is. I’m starting to remember what that felt like when I was a baby. ​ ​ November 14, 1993 Day 12 It’s hard to hold the pencil. Mom and Dad have gone transparent so now the light can come in and wash over me. Baby Jay had a lot less body to be filled with the light so he’s already stretched out completely in Mom’s arms, draping over them and near the floor and so, so content. My hands don’t feel too *weak* to hold a pencil, just... not *built* for it anymore. My veins and nerves are visible through the skin which seems to have gone from solid flesh to almost matching the consistency of the fog in only a day. They’re all still outside, swaying, waiting. The fog is supposed to clear today. We weren’t to come out until the siren blew again. Maybe the fog will stay. Maybe it will go. I think we’re supposed to go with it, but I don’t think I have the hands to open the hole up wider or even unlock the door to join them. Maybe we’ll be allowed to stay and fill the whole cellar with light and fog even after the main body moves on. Saw Big Steve join the sea outside. He’s almost fully changed now, but he still has the same plaid overshirt I saw him wearing way back when we helped get his station prepped.  Seems forever ago. Now he looks like his shirt has frayed at the sleeves, neck, and waist. It kind of looks like his shirt is walking along on its own. Maybe I can see a hint of his skull still. I wonder where all that goes. Is it being dissolved by the light and fog? My own writing hand is little more than bone wrapped in red and grey thread. I think I’ll stop writing very soon. I can hear Mom and Dad now too, and everybody else outside. It’s so peaceful to be a part of the fog with them. I thought it might be a little like how it was after Baby Jay was born. All the attention on him. But it’s not like that at all. There’s so much love in all of us. Goodbye, diary. They’re starting to move on." ​ ​ ​ ​ Parting notes: ​ I don’t know about you all but I certainly don’t remember a fog bank rolling out of the ocean and disappearing people across North America in 1993. I, along with the internet, have also never heard of a band called “Pondworks” and a song of theirs called “Stargazing.” I would have written this entire diary off as a piece of fiction if it weren’t for an unusual phenomenon I witnessed when first unboxing it: the entire diary glows, faintly, with orange light. I have since locked it away separately from my other accounts, in a safe with two-inch-thick iron walls and in a closet behind my winter coats. I have not noticed any adverse effects since being exposed to the diary but it will wait in that safe until I can locate a specialist to analyze it further. As for how it got here, well-- a particular passage from the diary sticks out. Something said by that incorrigible radio DJ, “Big Steve:” *“They’re us. Just more connected to the world. Maybe they’re connected to another one too. Another world in the fog.”*

Babysitting destroyed my life

xxzb4c

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxzb4c/babysitting_destroyed_my_life/

My mom told me that if I wanted to get a new phone for Christmas, I would have to save up my own money, that’s what got me the babysitting gig in the first place. A lot of neighborhoods around here are pretty well off and a simple ad on Facebook was all it took for about six families lining me up for work on the first week. At first everything was going just fine, none of the kids were bad. I think given they all came from privileged households the worst issue I had was some occasional snark. But that all changed when I got a DM from the Pynchon family matriarch. “Hello there. Sorry to message you out of the blue. One of my bridge club members mentioned you are the best babysitter in the business and my husband and I were thinking of trying to get a nice relaxing evening alone sometime next week. Would you be available?” I knew the name well. I recalled they had been in the news a few years back, but couldn’t remember the exact details. This family practically handled half of the city finances. They were rich, powerful and would probably pay through the nose. So of course I said yes. We discussed fees and such for the rest of the night and arranged for the day to be the Thursday after that. When I got to the house I wasn’t at all surprised to find that Missus Pynchon and her husband were already gone for their movie night out. They trusted me enough with their children that no introductions were needed. My main concern that night was a bad storm. I even texted them to see if they wanted to reschedule but they were adamant that they simply had to get away. “Been cooped up here too long because of covid,” the husband responded in the group chat. I couldn’t argue with that. Restrictions were finally lightening up and that was the main reason I needed this money. My worry came true though when I arrived at their luxurious house and found their power was out. A boy and girl, both age seven met me in the main entry. Fraternal twins. “Hey there! I’m June,” I told them both. The kids didn’t even bother to register a response. “I’m Abby,” the girl said reluctantly. “I guess we will have to play board games by candle light or something huh?” I said looking around the dark house. I was surprised at the lack of furnishings. It didn’t seem like any of the photos even included the boy in them, another odd thing. But I shrugged it off and led the kids to the living room, asking them what they wanted to do. “I’m sure you must have something fun around here?” I asked. The two both fidgeted. They had something on their mind but seemed too scared to say. “Come on, don’t worry about anything being off limits. I won’t tell your parents, scouts honor,” I teased. Honestly I just wanted to make time fly by. Being stuck in this massive house with two stoic children wasn’t my idea of a perfect evening. “There’s an old ouija board upstairs. In the attic. Can we use it?” the girl asked. I scratched my head, surprised that they had jumped to that idea first off. But whatever. If it kept them happy and distracted I didn’t see the harm. “In the attic? How do I get up there?” I asked. They showed me the way eagerly to the top of the staircase. A rope dangled in the shadows to tug and I paused briefly to look down the hall toward their rooms. One room was boarded up. “What’s that over there?” I asked. “Come on, let’s play something scary!” the boy complained. I shrugged and pulled the cord, the old attic ladder creaking and giving way to fall. I used my smartphone to peer into the attic and told them both to stay there. For some reason I got a cold chill over my body as I climbed to the attic and looked around. Most of the place was deserted. Just old dusty boxes, furniture and knickknacks. It occurred to me that I should have probably texted the parents before coming up here just to be sure this was okay, but the storm had knocked out signal. I had to make due with the weird game even if I wasn’t sure their folks approved. I found the old board game about ten minutes later, all the while below I heard the twins whine impatiently. I sincerely hoped it was the right thing as I climbed back down and dusted it off. The copy they had looked very old. Possibly never even opened. “Let’s go to the living room,” the girl said, eagerly grabbing the box. We all sat around the center coffee table as they got the weird game set up. “So you want a good scare huh?” I said rubbing my hands together. “I want to contact the dead,” Abby said. Her voice sounded so serious. “Who are you gonna call!” I teased. They didn’t laugh. Both seemed to be waiting for me to make a move with the board. “Aren’t we supposed to ask it questions?” the girl asked. I took out the instructions to get an idea, not wanting to admit I had actually never messed with one of these before. I’m supposed to be the cool babysitter. “ ‘Place board on a leveled surface untouched by any participants along with planchette. All parties should agree to questions beforehand and then ask one at a time after all touching the planchette together. Wait one to five minutes for a response. If there is no response, ask a different question.’ “ I shuffled toward the board and got the kids to settle on which side to sit on, commenting, “Did you have any questions you wanted to ask?” Abby cleared her throat. “Has anyone ever died in this house?” “Ooh creepy,” I said. I sat back and waited. Honestly I didn’t expect anything to happen. I was more worried the kids would lose interest and get bored. Then after two minutes, to my surprise the planchette moves. Y-E-S. “Whoa! Did you see that??” the boy asked excitedly. “Okay. Now we are getting somewhere!” The girl replied. I scratched my head, a little unnerved by the exchange as I thought about the logistics. This was how these things are supposed to work, right? Just harmless fun? “Who died. We should ask that!” the boy said. “Who died?” Abby asked. M-E. “Very clever,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. She didn’t bother to wait to ask the next question. “And who are you?” I asked. J-A-C-K. The boy stopped laughing, actually looking a bit scared. “Wait. That’s my name. How does this thing know my name?” “Have you ever played with this before?” I asked, wondering if the kids were just trying to play a prank on me. “No. Never,” Abby said. She looked like she was about to cry. “All right. Who killed you?” I asked. Nobody moved as the storm outside battered the house harder. Perfect setting for such a creepy situation. J-U-N-E R-I-G-E-L. Now I was the one who looked confused. “Me? What the hell is this thing talking about?” “You’re going to kill me?” Jack asked nervously. “Hold on, calm down,” I said, getting up and standing in front of Abby. It was clear they were taking this a little too seriously. “Let’s just put the game up and then play something else okay?” I suggested. I didn’t even want to admit that maybe I was also scared by this thing. How could they know my full name? Had their parents told them? “Stay away from me!” the little girl said angrily as she tried to push me. “Enough. It’s just some weird prank, I’m not going to hurt anyone,” I insisted as I started to pack up the game. “What if it’s telling us the future?” the boy whispered, his voice shaking. “I said that’s enough. Let’s just play something else. I’m sure there are other games in that dusty attic.” Both children remained stoic and silent as I tugged at the cord and the ladder fell. Abby looked as pale as a ghost. “I’ll be right back,” I told them both. As I got up to the attic and tucked the antique game away I shook off that disturbing feeling as best as I could. It’s just a prank. A game. I’m sure their parents told my name before they left for the evening I thought. As I started looking through boxes though, that same uneasiness manifested again. I saw family portraits that showed the entire group all looking happier and noticed these pictures included Jack. Why had his parents pushed him out of sight? Then I heard a sharp click behind me and turned to see that the ladder had been locked back in place. “Damn it. Jack! Open this door right now!” I shouted as I tried to wiggle the lock on my side. “No! You’re gonna hurt me!” He shouted back. “I promise I won’t. But if you don’t let me out of here I might get hurt! There are spiders and bugs up here,” I hoped maybe I could appeal to his empathy. “I don’t believe you,” Jack shouted back. I kicked at the ladder, trying to get it loose. “Jack, you’ll be in so much trouble when your parents get home!” He didn’t respond this time and I panicked, kicking the latch as hard as I could. The ladder slammed down, and I heard a sharp sound below followed by a cry of alarm. I looked down to see that the ladder had hit Jack directly in the face and he was trying his best to stop the bleeding as his sister screamed. “Oh my god, oh my god. I’m coming right down,” I said frantically. Jack stumbled backward a few steps. “Get away from me! You’re gonna hurt me!” I saw what happened next in slow motion. His feet wobbled in the air for a second. And then he tumbled down the stairs, slamming his body against the first floor as his sister screamed even louder. “Shit. Shit shit shit!!!” I shouted as I ran down and tried to see if he was still breathing. Jack was motionless. I fumbled with my phone trying to see if I could get a signal. Nothing. “Stay here! I’m going to the neighbors to see if I can make a call to 911!!” I told the little girl as I bolted out of the house in the rain. Thunder rumbled overhead as i passed my parked car, and a brief nagging thought told me to just get in and drive away. I could pretend I was never here. The parents would never know. They couldn’t prove the accident was my fault. I can’t tell you how appalled I was that this lingered in my mind as I ran toward the nearest house. Then as I reached the end of the driveway I saw headlights in the rain. The Pynchons were back. “Shit!!” I shouted as I ran back to the big house. I waved my arms frantically to the couple as they got out under their covered garage. Both of them looked like they had a good evening but seemed surprised by my presence. “Before you go inside I need to explain something please,” I said. “You’re the babysitter… what are you doing out here?” the mom asked in an irate voice. Dad was already unlocking the door. Abby was standing there crying. “She left me mommy. She left me here all alone!!” she screamed. “No! I was trying to go get help!” I explained. “Was there an accident?” her father asked as we all stepped inside. “Jack fell down the stairs. I tried to help him, but it was too late,” I said, my voice hardly even audible. “What?” mom whispered. Abby kept crying and I sobbed and answered, “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry!” “How do you know what happened to our Jack?” the man asked, his voice as cold as ice. What? What did he mean by that? “I was… I was here. It just happened.” We all walked toward the steps. I didn’t see Jack’s body anywhere. “She’s been talking to herself all night mommy. I think she’s a witch!!” Abby said, sobbing uncontrollably. “Abby go upstairs,” the mother said as I looked around, trying to comprehend what was happening. “No. When I got here there were two children. Jack and Abby. Abby wanted to play with a ouija board up in the attic….” I noticed the father’s expression grow more and more concerned. “Our son died two years ago. Exactly as you described. We’ve had his room boarded up ever since.” “What?” I couldn’t hardly recognize my voice. “We never knew how it happened. We hired a sitter and she brought over a copy of her ouija board to play with. We thought it was harmless. Then the sitter disappeared and Jack had an accident. Abby claimed a demonic force was here that night when the sitter disappeared. Something in the attic… we locked away that cursed toy that night, shut off all memories of Jack in the attic,” he whispered. “I wish I knew if you were the same girl but that would be impossible… wouldn’t it?” I started to nervously laugh. “This is a prank right. Y’all are pulling my leg?” I asked. He held his wife, both of them visibly shaken and scared now. “I’m calling the police,” the father said, holding his family close. I’m waiting now to try and explain myself to the authorities, if I can. I know what I experienced tonight was real, but I have no proof. Even the original texts sent for my sitting job are gone. Deleted from existence. Maybe I did go back to that night two years ago. Maybe I was here? I’m not sure of anything anymore. But as I wait, I’ve seen Jack romp through the house; smiling and playing. I think he has found a way to live on through their guilt over what happened two years ago. It could have been an accident. Or something far more sinister from a harmless game. But either way, it destroyed my life. [330](https://www.reddit.com/r/KyleHarrisonwrites/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app)

Avoid This Circus At All Costs, They Have A Terrible Secret

xyvzs3

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyvzs3/avoid_this_circus_at_all_costs_they_have_a/

“The bullet hit the victim in the back, killing her instantly,” officer Hernadez told me as I arrived at the crime scene. The murder happened at a circus called Wonderland. The victim’s body was found about an hour after the homicide. Hernadez immediately closed the whole circus so that we could investigate. A bullet killed the victim from behind, which destroyed her lungs. Based on her ID card, she was 38. Her name was Mary Casfield. Hernadez had already questioned some people, but there were no witnesses. A few people said they heard a gunshot around midnight, but nobody saw anyone suspicious around the crime scene. “Any suspects?” I asked Hernadez. Meanwhile, another police officer was writing his report about the incident. There were at least a dozen of us there. “It could’ve been anyone, Damford,” Hernadez responded, searching for a cigarette in his pocket. He finally found a pack. “Do you want one?” No, I put it down a few months ago,” I said. “Oh, alright, sorry,” he then tried to search for a lighter. “We have to speak with everyone working at the circus. The lieutenant said he knew the victim, and she has a husband and a son, who is 12, I think.” “We should inform them about the passing of the victim.” “They already know about it. We’ll interrogate them too. The entrance guard said the victim arrived at 8 pm with her son and husband. They are the primary suspects.” “You mean the husband?” Well, yeah, the kid isn’t the killer, probably. Although, I saw stranger things happen…” he lighted his cigar. He was a short, bald, middle aged man with tons of experience. I’m sure he has seen many strange cases since starting his job. “Where are they now?” “At the police station waiting for you to question them, probably,” Hernadez smiled. “Feel free to go back there. Come back here after you spoke with them. I’m gonna have a talk with the workers here until then.” I went back to the station in a police car. When I arrived, one of my coworkers gave me some information about the victim’s family. They were waiting for me in my office. The kid, Jeremy Casfield was still crying, understandably. He had red hair, just like his parents. His father, Charles Casfield was sitting there, looking at me as I sat down in my chair. He had a large beard. He looked stressed, but I didn’t see tears on his face. “Sorry for your loss, Mr. Casfield. I’m officer Damford,” I introduced myself. “I’ll be very short, just a few questions, and we’re done here.” “Thank you, Mr. Damford,” Charles, the victim’s husband said. “I’ll try to answer your questions, but I still can’t process what happened, so please forgive me if I can’t remember everything.” “You arrived at 8 pm with your son and wife,” I said. “What happened after that?” Charles was silent for a few seconds. He looked worried and tired. “We were watching the main attraction, Gary, the clown,” he responded. He avoided eye contact with me, and instead looked down at the table. “When it was over, we came outside. She told us to wait for her as she walked away from us. That was the last time we saw her alive. Sorry, it’s still hard for us.” The kid started crying even more, so I gave him water. Charles’ description of the events wasn’t too detailed. I felt like his confession was missing some very important details, or I should say he was lying to me. “Is this what happened?” I looked at Jeremy, the little kid. “Ye… yes, sir,” he responded with his eyes full of tears. “Okay, you can go home for now. We’ll inform you as soon as we find out what happened.” “Can we get the body back?” Charles asked. “Just to… give her a proper funeral she deserves.” “The body is under investigation,” I answered. “It may take a few days. Thank you for your understanding!” After I finished writing my report with the little information Charles provided, I drove back to the Wonderland circus. Luckily, Hernadez was still there. I approached him. “Gary, the clown. It’s the only name I’ve got from the victim’s husband,” I said. “He’s still a suspect.” “What about the kid?” “He’s still shocked, understandably. He was crying the whole time.” “Yeah, as expected,” Hernadez said. “It’s unfortunate to lose a parent when you are this young. Still better than losing the child, however. It’s not an unusual thing at the circus.” “Have kids gone missing at the circus?” I raised my eyebrows. “When? I’ve never heard about it.” “Of course you haven’t,” Hernadez laughed. “The Wonderland won’t let the media speak about things like this. That would kill the whole circus. As far as the public knows, no one went missing here. They probably won’t know about this murder either.” “But that’s not right! Everyone should know about it if the circus is really that dangerous!” “Don’t worry, Damford. If the killer is a circus worker, we’ll put them in jail. But if it was someone else, we must keep it a secret. That’s how it works.” I didn’t say anything. After a few seconds of silence, Hernadez spoke again. “So, Gary, the clown. He’s the main attraction around here. I think he’s still here, so you can speak with him if you want.” “Do you think he’s also a suspect?” I asked. “Who knows? He might be. I always hated clowns, to be honest.” As we were talking, an old man appeared from nowhere. He had gray hair and a mustache and wore a black suit. “Officer Hernadez,” the man nodded to him, then looked at me. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Carter, the owner, and manager of the Wonderland Circus. I’m here because of the unfortunate incident that happened a few hours ago.” “I’m sure we’ll solve this case as soon as possible,” I reassured him. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened with the victim,” Carter said, “but this investigation is bad for the business. I want you to end this by the end of the next day.” “It isn’t that simple, sir,” I argued. “We are already working on solving the case, but…” “Don’t worry, sir,” Hernadez looked at Carter. “We’ll close the investigation in no time.” “Thank you, officer Hernadez,” Carter nodded, then walked back to his office. I looked at Hernadez. “This guy is a piece of shit!” “Hah,” Hernadez laughed. “He is. Anyway, looks like we have to be fast. Go and find that clown guy. I’ll talk with the rest of the staff.” It took me half an hour to find Gary, the clown. I knew I had to be fast, and that Carter would probably give tons of money to the police station to close this case. Gary still had his colorful face painting when I talked to him. We were in the office building of the circus, at an employee only storage. “What’s your real name?” I asked him. I watched his facial expressions. “Gregor Williams,” he responded. His voice was a bit creepy, but maybe I was just scared because of his stupid face paint. “Where were you when the murder happened?” “In front of the audience, entertaining people. It’s my job, isn’t it?” he smiled a bit. “How old are you?” “34.” “When did you start working here?” “I was employed by Wonderland eleven years ago,” his eyes widened. “So you must know the owners pretty well, then. What do you think about Mr. Carter?” “Carter is a great boss, he pays everyone well. He founded Wonderland.” As he was talking about Mr. Carter, I looked around the room we were in. It was full of shelves and kid toys, probably Gary’s accessories for the show. Then, there was a heavy steel door in the corner of the room. “It’s the basement,” Gary said as he noticed I was looking at the door. “We keep the… heavier stuff there.” “Can I take a look?” I asked. I found it strange that he tried to explain what was in the basement. Like he was trying to keep it secret. “You can, but you won’t see anything, it’s fucking dark, and there’s no light, we have to replace our generator, unless God generates some kind of electricity there.” “Are you religious?” “I believe in a… rather unique god, Mr. Damford,” he smiled. “Greg!” we heard a voice shouting from outside. “Your dog shat on the floor again, come here and clean it up, or the janitor will lock us out of the building again!” “If you excuse me, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Gary stood up from his chair, and left the storage room, closing the door behind him. I was left alone, and I glanced at the basement door again. *We have to be fast,* I remembered the words of Hernadez. I stood up and hurried towards the steel door leading to the basement. I slowly opened a door. It was dark. Luckily, I had a flashlight with me. I walked down the stairs and quickly reached the bottom of it. The basement was large, full of spiderwebs. I felt my heart beating faster and faster as I noticed two human skeletons in the corner. They were real skeletons, I was sure. It was a circus, not a horror mansion. I noticed a few strange symbols and blood on the walls, and things looking like torture devices from the middle ages. There was a sentence written with blood, *The Supreme God sees us all.* “You are a curious human being, aren’t you, Mr. Damford?” I jumped and looked back, seeing Gary, the clown behind me, along with the victim’s husband, Charles Casfield. “We should sacrifice him to the Supreme God,” Charles said. “The Supreme God prefers kid sacrifices. Do you have a kid, Mr. Damford?” Gary smiled at me with his stupid clown face, showing his yellow teeth. “You are under arrest,” I pulled out my handgun, and pointed it at Gary while watching Charles in the corner of my eye. “Let’s recruit Damford,” Gary shouted, and shadowy figures appeared behind me. I glanced back at them, sweating heavily. My hands started shaking, I almost dropped my gun. When did they got there, and how? The stairs were blocked by Charles, and the dark figures started to get closer and closer. I panicked, and pointed my gun at Charles, then pulled the trigger. He shouted, but I didn’t have time to check on him, I had to run. I ran up the stairs, then left the building, trying to find Hernadez. He wasn’t there, so I jumped in my car and drove back to the police station. I was so stressed, I almost caused an accident on the road, but luckily, I managed to avoid it. I shouldn’t have driven in such circumstances, but I had no other choice. When I arrived at the station, Hernadez was standing at the gates, smoking a cigarette. I ran to him as fast as I could. “Officer Hernadez, they tried to kill me, the killers…” “Calm down, Damford,” he responded with a calm voice. I was so angered by this. I could’ve died, and he was so calm… “I talked to Mr. Carter again a few minutes ago. The case is already closed. The victim wasn’t killed, she committed suicide.” “What the fuck?” I shouted. “She was shot in the back, you saw it!” “And you should be under arrest for attempted murder on Charles Casfield. The circus reported it. Since you are my longtime friend, I won’t arrest you right now. I’ll give you some friendly advice. Leave the country, now! If I see you again, I’ll have to arrest you. I hope you understand.” “That’s bullshit, man, how much money did Carter give you?” “He gave me nothing. Go now, I could get killed for letting you go! This is what you get for not accepting the way of the Supreme God, Damford.” He then took my gun, turned back, and slowly walked back inside, leaving me there. I’m on a plane right now, moving out of the country. I lost my job, and [I have no idea what to do.](https://www.reddit.com/r/polgari/)

Poison Pay

xyl2rr

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyl2rr/poison_pay/

It was two or three summers ago. One of the real hot ones. I was working construction, well more like demolition. Worse than demolition, really. See, the crew I was on would scrape out, clear out or haul out any kind of totally toxic shit a building had. Totally awful gig. But it paid ten bucks more an hour than any other demo gig. We called it “poison pay.” Of course, I ended up on a team with Jay. Didn’t matter that he was probably PNW Salish, and I was Montana Blackfoot. That’s just the way it was, way it always has been since picking teams in second grade. The Natives ended up together. Maybe it wasn’t by design. Yeah, and maybe there's a troll living under the bridge downtown. Jay was alright. Older, more of my dad’s generation. Big strong quiet guy with beat down eyes. Man had seen some shit. Probably done some shit, too but I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell and that was pretty much cool with both of us. You could read his mood through his silence, its timing whether it was a still quiet or something more intense. I understood this language. Fuck, I’d grown up with it. Anyway, it was on this one job, a truly shitty one, that Jay got quiet and walked upstairs. It was right after we heard about the third floor. I turned it over in my head a bit and then decided it probably wouldn’t hurt if I went to check on him. Might not help either but may as well, you know? Jay was dangling his legs over the balcony. He’d pulled off his respirator and fired up a cigarette. I sat down next to him and didn’t say anything, just kind of stared off like he was. The bay stretched out into dense, murky grey ahead of us. Behind us, I could hear the whine of reciprocal saws and the thuds of pry bars sinking into shoddy drywall. Jay and I just kind of both zoned it all out. The noise, the job, the third floor. He let a long plume of smoke out toward the bay, adding it to the fog that showed no signs of burning off. It was a moment or two before a chirping voice broke the silence. “Smoking on an asbestos job. There’s some irony for ya.” It was Annie. She was pretty new to the team. Not a bad worker. Not bad company. A bit too quick with a smartass observation but the days would grind that out of her soon enough. I’d mentioned that to Jay once, but he just smiled and said, “At least she gives enough of a fuck to *observe*.” Which was a pretty Jay thing to say. Guy seemed to run pretty deep, you know? Annie’s usual bent grin showed itself as she yanked off her respirator and plopped down next to me. Jay slid the pack of smokes toward her. “Fucked job, huh?” she said, her grin fading, I nodded, “Very.” Jay sucked up another lungful of smoke. “It’s true then,” she said. “What they found on the third floor?” I could feel Jay stiffen a little next to me. His silence tightened up a notch or two. It seemed like Annie needed something from us, some vague sign that we were all cool and would remain so. Knowing Jay wasn’t going to, I obliged. “Yeah, six of them. In the walls. Shit like that happens in old buildings. The ones built before the fire especially. This one even more so, I guess.” “I heard the bones were small.” Annie’s grin had completely disappeared now. “Like kids.” Jay’s voice was low but strong, “They were,” he said. I could hear the anger in him. It wasn’t directed at Annie. It was a more free-floating kind of hate. Generational you might say. “You know what this place was… before it was an SRO flophouse, right?” Jay said in a flat tone, his eyes still searching the gray sea ahead. “Some sort of school,” she said blandly. Jay was trying to be patient with her. What’s common knowledge on the rez is usually a mystery off it. “It was a residential school. Most of them were up in Canada but there were a few down here,” Jay said. I noticed a muscle in his neck had started to twitch. “They took kids from the reservation here to ‘civilize’ them. Which often meant beatin’ em to death and burying them. Never saw them in the walls before.” “You seen this before? The skeletons… The little ones?” Jay didn’t answer that. Didn’t even look at me. He just flicked his smoke away and strapped his respirator on. “C’mon he said. We’re on the attic.” As Jay trudged off toward the stairs, Annie cast a look at his broad back and then stubbed out her cigarette. “Did I say something wrong?” “No. Not at all,” I said. Obviously, she was wrestling with some other side of some other generational coin. “Jay’s probably seen a lot of shit. He processes it his own way, I guess.” “Fuck,” Annie said, masking up. “The attic. That’s worse than the basement.” The mold on the walls thickened with each flight. By the time Jay, Annie and I reached the 7th floor, the air was thick with spores, sickly greenish motes floating in the wet rotting air. Jay led the way, step by step, like these weird ass spores were just another fucked thing in another fucked job on another fucked day. As we were heading up another flight, he turned to Annie and I for a second. His face was obscured by the respirator, but his eyes seemed to say: *Walk. Just walk off the job, walk out of the building and keep walking.* Then it was gone. “You guys good?” was all he said as he pointed to a ring in the ceiling, the hatch for the attic stairs. Annie and I both nodded. “Rock Paper Scissors?” she asked. I figured she was trying hard to put up that grin behind her mask. Jay shook his head. “Nah, I got it.” The ladder came down with an explosion of glowing green spores. There was something sickly in them, something *wrong.* Jay didn’t care, he bounded up the ladder like he was going to meet someone. Looking back, I guess he was. Low, I told Annie to hang back a sec as I climbed up behind him. The ladder was covered in slippery mold, greenish and, I swear to God, swirling in colors. I climbed up into the darkness and pulled myself into the attic. It was insane. Something churned in my gut as I blinked in the oozing green darkness. The mold seemed alive. I mean like fucking *sentient*. Jay had somehow already made it to the middle of the room and the spores were swirling around him, starting to cover him. “You really shouldn’t be here,” he said in a flat, dead voice that scared the shit out of me. Then, he took off his respirator and started breathing the spores in. Big deep breaths like in a sweat when the coals and cedar sprigs are ready. I froze for a second, unable to move, unable to not watch what was happening in front of me. Jay’s broad back started to ripple under the green moss creeping over him. I could hear something popping. *His joints*, my mind screamed. I’d heard stories. I’d chalked them up to old timer bullshit but here it was, happening right in front of me. I felt my stomach flip, bile rise. And still, I couldn’t move. Then I heard Annie from downstairs. “Everything okay up there?” she asked. That got me moving. I slid down the stairs, grabbed Annie’s hand and ran, not looking back. Halfway across the 7th floor, Annie looked back and screamed. I never asked her what she saw, and I never will. I pulled Annie along with me, past crews, down more stairs. As we ran, I heard sounds: choking, something guttural and not exactly human. The light had gained a sickly greenish glow. I could feel it behind me… *death*. We came out on the street and kept running, all the way to my car. Neither of us looked back or said a word as that job, that day faded behind us. The news said it was a toxic mold that killed the seventeen people on our demolition crew. Well, I can tell you it wasn’t a gas leak or toxic mold or acute asbestos poisoning. It was Jay. The reason I’m writing any of this down is cause I saw Annie again just a couple of nights ago. She came into the bar I’m working in. No more demo for me, thank you very much. She seemed older; a bit slower in the way she talked. The lopsided grin didn’t make any appearances as she nursed a whiskey with a Rainier back. She’d been spending a lot of her time on the San Juan Islands, off the grid, just kind of “out there” as she put it. “I saw him again, you know,” she said and something icy twisted inside me. “Jay.” She was on a ferry and they passed one of those aluminum boats you see all over up here. The man behind the wheel turned and looked up at her and she’d swear to Christ it was Jay. Same broad back. Same flat eyes. He nodded to her, and then the boat was too far away to recognize anything. I wrestled with the cold feeling, playing some things out in my mind before I asked her. “How big a boat?” She looked at me, like it was the stupidest question ever. But it wasn’t. Not even close. “I don’t know. Thirty, maybe thirty-five feet.” A thirty-five-footer might make it to Canada. Part of me hoped it couldn’t. But another part of me, an older deeper part of me, hoped it would.

I could never forgive my uncle, but it might not have been his fault.

xypz26

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xypz26/i_could_never_forgive_my_uncle_but_it_might_not/

My uncle used to say that life tends to last longer for people that avoid experiencing it. I doubt that saying was supposed to be used to discourage trying new things, but then again I don’t think the man ever even considered the opposite. It’s not like I’d show up with a new hobby everyday, I suppose partly thanks to him draining the joy of finding one. When he berated me for bringing a new board game to my nephews, I just let it go. However, when I later caught him burning the brand new copy of risk, a grudge was born that only grew throughout the years. I’m only telling you this because you need to understand how absolutely unbelievable it was when he told my parents he had taken up a new pastime. Apparently he had been talking to a coworker at his boring old desk job and they had set him up with a penpal, writing each other letters every week. Obviously when I heard this I was in utter disbelief. If it wasn’t for the fact that the surprise made me absentmindedly spill hot tea over my hands I would have sworn I was dreaming. A penpal? My uncle had a penpal? My parents must have noticed my confusion, as they told me to be happy that maybe my uncle would become less of a buzzkill. Yeah, my parents didn’t like the man either. I had to wonder though: what did my uncle have to actually write about that would make anyone want to write back? I decided that whatever the case, the person on the receiving end probably wasn’t the “carpe diem” type either and forgot about it. About a month after I learned about my uncle’s penpal, we noticed that something was different. Because my uncle lived in the same street, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stop by unannounced (to both me and my parents’ dismay). My parents should probably have actually talked to him about this, but I guess being a bit socially inept runs in the family. I won’t deny that I still find it hard to tackle confrontations myself. Anyway, my uncle no longer stopped by our house. We came to that realization when the overall mood in the house started getting better. When I caught myself actually being able to relax in our front yard it occurred to me that I didn’t subconsciously expect to get rudely interrupted anymore. I gladly welcomed the change, and thus got justifiably irritated when my father immediately called his brother to ask how he was doing. It wasn’t a long conversation, but what caught me off guard was hearing my father almost exclusively answering questions from the other side. Sure it’s nothing out of the ordinary when normal people call, but I know for a fact that my uncle never uttered any more than 3 words on the phone. My dad, seemingly unfazed, gave a few simple answers and hung up with an unexpected sigh of relief. When he noticed that I had been listening along, he ignored the clearly annoyed look on my face and asked me if we still had any kids’ books lying around. If I wasn’t still processing the phone call I would have been even more confused upon hearing that question. My brain was already working overtime however, and I answered the question on autopilot, directing my father to the bottom shelf of my dresser. As he walked upstairs, I stared blankly at the ceiling, processing what I could only describe as a slowly encroaching feeling of unease. I tried to distract myself with snacks and TV, unwilling to let that sensation control me. Regardless, I found my mind wandering back again and again. Surely my uncle just wanted to send the books to his penpal who just happened to be a fresh parent. But even then, what bothered me wasn’t that he asked for my old childrens’ books. Heck, I even begrudgingly accepted that he was able to entertain his penpal for what had already been a month. But what I found absolutely impossible to accept was that this man, whom I had known my whole life as a miserable and depressing real-life adaptation of Ebenezer Scrooge, was suddenly putting in any amount of effort for someone other than himself. I know some people will think that very harsh, and my response is simply that would you have been unlucky enough to meet the man, I guarantee you would be just as harsh if not more so. Later that day, there was a knock on the door. I knew it had to be my uncle. Having taken the whole afternoon to collect my thoughts, I didn’t feel uneasy anymore. Instead, I felt a cold, bitter resentment for the man that couldn’t have made a positive impact if he catapulted a plus sign. I stumbled to the door, grabbing the pile of childrens’ books my dad left on the stairs before heading off. When I reached for the doorknob however, I caught a glimpse of my uncle through the tiny glass window on my door, and I froze. What I felt then was neither resentment, nor any slight unease. When I saw that awful man standing there, as depressing a figure as the last time I saw him, I knew that the imitation of a smile he was wearing couldn’t be real. Somehow that made it all the more terrifying. I suppose I should once again blame my body going on autopilot for what happened next. While I thought I was frozen in stone cold fear, I suddenly realized that I felt the door handle turning in my hands. Just as I wanted to stop myself, just as I wanted to slam the door shut and run upstairs to hide under my covers like a little kid, just then I realized that I was too late. The door started to slowly creep open, and reaching for the door handle meant sticking my hand closer to what I knew for a fact was a threat. They say animal instincts kick in at moments like that. And at that same traumatizing moment, I knew that my body wouldn’t go with either fight or flight. It just froze. Like a deer in headlights I suppose, inner thoughts yelling that maybe I just imagined it, pulling out all the stops just to try and push away my alarming gut feeling. Then the door slowly cracked open enough to reveal my uncle. And he was smiling. Still that sick, twisted smile. I’ve wondered for a long time wether or not that smile would have been as vile if it had been someone else. My shrink always told me that my mind somehow exaggerates my memories because of my lingering resentment towards my uncle. Still, even if that smile was less wide, even if it didn’t seem like he had a few too many teeth, even if he was in fact smiling normally, it still would have scared me. But it really was that unnatural. No amount of therapy will make me believe otherwise. For a while, the length of which I can’t even begin to describe, we just stood there. Facing each other. I must have started crying, because I remember that at some point my face started feeling wet. I still couldn’t bring myself to move. Eventually, the silence was broken by a lower pitched, grating voice that sounded only vaguely reminiscent of that of my uncle’s. “HE IS GRATEFUL FOR THE BOOKS” The jarring speech definitely came from him, but his excruciating smile never moved even an inch. He grabbed the books and walked backwards to his house, all the while maintaining eye contact. Only then did I notice the emotion in his eyes. It’s something I’ve never been able to do, but in this case even I could tell. My uncle, somewhere in there, was scared to death. Those eyes, not unlike those of a tortured animal, were somehow even more terrified than I was. Nonetheless, he kept walking. I’m pretty sure he even locked his door while those eyes were still locked on to me, silently pleading for it to end. That was the last time anyone ever saw my uncle. When they got home, my parents found a traumatized husk instead of the son they’d known. It took months of constant therapy for me to finally open up again. According to my parents I just repeated the words “uncle” and “not happy” for a while. That made them go check on him and, well, he wasn’t home anymore. Instead, after they had finally found the spare key, they walked into an almost empty house. He had gotten rid of everything except for a simple desk in the middle of his living room, stacked almost to the ceiling with handwritten letters. Eventually I got my father to admit he grabbed one to read, but it shocked him so much he immediately pulled my mother out of the house and burned the place to the ground. Miraculously the fire didn’t spread, which is something I’m still thankful for. The fire brigade definitely knew it was foul play, but for some reason nothing further was done. I assume they (hastily) came to the conclusion that my uncle had started the fire himself after finding out that no-one had seen him in a month, and further discovering that none of them cared to. I wish this story ended there. I guess looking back at it now, maybe I should have listened to my uncle and chosen to experience less of life. Maybe I could have avoided such a somber fate. Not a lot of use dwelling on it now though. I feel like my whining has gone on long enough. Though I suppose I’ve stretched it out a bit because I dread what I’m going to do after I post this… My father has been getting quite a bit older, and recently he got diagnosed with late stage dementia. I don’t mind taking care of him at all, but yesterday he told me something that made me relive this awful chain of events all over again. He told me that he has made a penpal. Someone is sending him letters, and he wants me help him write a response. I don’t know what will happen when I open these letters. Maybe I’ll follow in my fathers footsteps and burn this entire place to the ground… Then again if that actually worked I might have been able to experience more of life. I really hope I still can. Alright, time to stop running. Does anyone know the proper way to address something that deeply terrifies you?

At my fraternity's Halloween party, shit got fucked up when we found my friend's body in the bedroom. Now, I'm afraid of going out at night... (Part One)

xyj958

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyj958/at_my_fraternitys_halloween_party_shit_got_fucked/

Full moon, flashing lights, loud ass music, beer, pot, and the hottest girls on campus. Every college boy's dream, right? That was the "Knuckle-biter Empire's" Halloween party. This was all of course, Ronnie’s idea. Ronald Edmunds, "Knuckle-biter Supreme and ruler of parties and chicks!" In case you haven't picked up on it yet, yes, we're just a bunch of dumbass frat boys. Parties once a month and football games every Friday night during the winter. The three of us; Me, Ronnie, Zack and Wydell, were about the most obnoxious frat on campus at Western State University, and we couldn't have cared less. When we weren't at football games like I mentioned, ogling the cheerleaders, or trying to (and usually failing to) score with the chicks at Ronnie's house parties, we were usually spending our time coming up with the most extreme stunts and pranks to pull off on the campus. And when I say extreme, we're not just talking simple spray painting "Suck it" on the Dean's car (though we did do that once) or hooking up a car battery to the seat in one of the bathrooms so the next unlucky son of a bitch would be on the hot seat when he needed to drop one. No, we're talking more like actually filling up and attempting to light off a potpourri of firecrackers un the trunk of Wydell's old piece of shit Ford pickup that was constantly breaking down every two times you went to turn the damn thing on and watching it go out with a blast on the campus football field. Either that, or at the very least trying to dare random people to run across campus in broad daylight bare assed with lit sparklers in their hands, shouting "*Long live Knuckle-biter Supreme!"* Yes, we were idiots and yes, we probably should've been arrested a few times. To answer as to why we haven't ever been (since I know you're wondering), well, let me emphasize the word *ATTEMPT.* See, the downside was, next to none of these stunts *actually* worked like we wanted them to. People of course weren't interested in making a quick 20 bucks by running across campus in the buff and the one time we actually tried the car bomb on the soccer field act, the damn things were fucking duds. In short, we were wannabe hotshots, even if we couldn't ever pull off half the insane and dangerous shit we came up with on the regular. I know that was kind of a lot, but now you know who we were, and why this whole mess has turned things every which way from loose for me. So anyway, like I said, we were at Ronnie's party. Me and Zack were both nice and stoned with the bowl he brought while watching Wydell dance -- or at least *try* to -- in the middle of the living room with a few of the girls while Ronnie was in the kitchen, nursing his high with as much of the chips and junk food as he could stuff in his mouth. As the two of us watched, Zack turned to me and said, "God man, just imagine." "What, dude?" I asked. He pointed to the girls gathered around Wydell. "Imagine yourself, right there, with all them rubbing up against you like that." I looked and snickered. "Yeah." "Hey, Wydell, back room's all yours!" he called out. Wydell glared at him, still continuing to do his little shaking thing that I guess was supposed to count as him dancing. I think he was actually about to stop and walk off somewhere else when one of the girls, an albeit drop-dead *gorgeous* babe that had both mine and Zack's eyes bugging from their sockets, stopped him. She was tall, meeting Wydell, who was the tallest of us "Knuckle-biters" at 6', at eye level. She was slim, too, forming an almost perfect hourglass shape from her shoulders to her hips. Wydell was thinking the same thing, too, judging from the way in which his eyes were about to shoot out of his own head. She winked, bit her lip and playfully took his hand, gesturing to the back bedroom of Ronnie's house. Wydell stood still, looking caught off guard. I, being the good ol' pal I was, decided to egg him on, going "Wy-dell! Wy-dell! Wy-dell!" Soon, Zack and a few of the others around him joined in. He looked absolutely embarrassed and it was hilarious. Of course, I couldn't blame him. Of the four of us, Wydell was always the one we'd expect to always strike out with the ladies. I mean, *none* of us were realn "Top notch" catches as far as that went, I'll admit. But Wydell had always been the responsible, or at least the *most* responsible "Knuckle-biter". It was at least 51% of the reason we had him hanging out with us. While the other three of us were doing shit that'd get us (and probably others if we're being honest) killed, Wydell would be the one that'd be there so that we'd have at least a *slight* chance at surviving whatever stupid stunt we were trying to pull off at any given moment. Funny how that works, I guess. Well anyway, there he was, presented with this golden opportunity and what does he do? He stands there, jaw hanging open like an idiot. A few other girls, all just as hot as the one in front of him, then come up and take his other hand with sly smiles of their own. Eventually they managed to coax him to move and they led him all the way to the back room. "Attaboy! Get 'em, Wy-guy!" I shouted. I heard the door close and everyone turned down the music and tried to listen closely. We couldn't hear anything. We figured, you know, he's probably nervous. Like I said, it *was* his first time. Eventually, though, interest in this started to fade after about 5 or so minutes with absolutely nothing happening and the music was turned back up. Another ten or twenty minutes went by before Ronnie came back into the living room. "Hey, what's going on? I miss something?" Zack and I grinned. "Bro, you missed Wydell scoring with chicks!" I exclaimed. His eyes grew. "You're bullshitting!" "No dude." Zack said, "Ask anyone here, they'll tell you." He looked around at the crowd and back to the two of us. "You'd be proud." "Who was it?" he asked, still looking skeptical. I shrugged. "Don't know. It was this really cute chick and a couple of her friends. I haven't ever seen them before. I don't even think they're actually from the campus." His eyes got even bigger with shock. "*Friends?!*" he exclaimed. "You mean to tell me he actually landed more than one at the same time!" Zack and I both nodded, grinning excitedly. He stared in shock for another moment before his face fell into one of outrage. "Hold up, you mean to tell me that fucker's gettin' it on *before* I had my turn?! The fuck!" "Aw, lighten up, dude." Zack chided. "You've had all this time to have your shot and you decided to pig out in the kitchen." I shrugged in agreement and told him, "You stay quiet, you bite it." It was our little credo. It was supposed to mean something similar to "YOLO", you know? You get one shot, you better take it, basically. Of course, this didn't mean shit to him. That was always a big sort of unspoken rule between the 'Knuckle-biter Empire' when it came to parties. We could have as much fun with whatever girl we managed to get lucky with that night in the back room, for however long we liked, so long as he got the first session. It was sort of own little "Bro-code" type thing, even if we weren't exactly big on the idea. We didn't usually oppose it. But I figured, like Zack said, he'd had all that time, PLUS it was Wydell's first ever -- you'd think he'd have been willing to cut *a little* slack, right? Ronnie started stomping off toward the back room. Zack and I braced ourselves to have to hear him scream at the top of his lungs at Wydell. We heard him shout "What the fuck!" I could tell something was off, though. "Oh God, what the fuck!" Zack and I looked at each other alarmed before jumping up from the couch and running for the back room. Zack reached the room ahead of me. "Dude, what's wro-- OH MY GOD!" I made it the rest of the way to the room and instantly felt sick to my stomach. The bed was torn and cut up, every inch covered in rips and slashes. Also covered in these from head to toe, almost to the point where I couldn't even recognize him, was Wydell, who was gasping and wheezing, even coughing up spurts of blood. On the wall, as well as on his chest and both his palms, was a pentagram. "Wydell!" I cried, pushing past the other two and rushing over to the bed. Zack turned and retched while Ronnie just stood frozen in the doorway. Wydell weakly spasmed while spitting out bigger and bigger spurts of blood. "Wy, stay with me, man!" I turned to the others and shouted, "What the fuck are you standing there for?! GO! get 911 on the phone!" "We can't, dude!" Ronnie exclaimed. "What do you mean "We can't?" "Dude, are you *trying* to get us busted!" He held up the joint he had behind his ear. "He's gonna fucking *DIE* if we don't!" He still remained stiff. "Dude, trust me, this is a hell of a lot worse than a fucking possession charge. Get the ambulance on the phone, NOW!" I stared wildly at him, making it clear that I was gonna put my foot in his ass if he didn't. Reluctantly, yet desperately, he ran back into the living room to call 911 while also clearing out the rest of the guests. "Zack, grab me a towel." He ran to the bathroom and came back with an old dirty towel. "Here, help me plug his wound." "Which one?" he asked. I looked around. I almost wasn't sure, given how much his body had been ripped up. Finally, I told him to wrap it around the pentagram on his chest. I carefully them tried performing CPR. I didn't know what else to do, besides that and trying to prop his head up. Never really had much knowledge of First Aid. Sure enough, this at least got him to stop coughing up blood. He continued wheezing. "What happened, dude?" Zack asked Wydell, as if he was gonna actually be able to answer that. Wydell's gasped harder and harder, like he was actually *trying* to speak. Nothing came out, though. Ronnie came running back into the room. "Okay, they're on their way. Is he gonna be--" "Don't know yet. Is everybody else gone?" "Yeah." Wydell's body began to relax and his eyes started to glaze over with his head lolling limply to one side. "Wy!" I said, shaking him gently. "Wydell, come on man, stay with me!" I could feel his chest relaxing under my hands. He wasn't gonna make it much longer. I started shaking him harder. "Wydell! WYDELL!" I then resorted again to chest compressions, stopping every 10 to 15 seconds to give him mouth to mouth. Nothing seemed to be working. His heartbeat was so faint by that point that I almost didn't feel it, despite how hard I was pressing. In what I considered to be a true stroke of luck, almost even the work of a miracle, I heard the sirens outside. "That's them," Ronnie said, "I'll let them in." He and Zack then rushed out of the room into the living room, leaving me alone with a rapidly fading Wydell. Ten seconds later, paramedics flooded the room and told me they'd handle it from there. I was led out of the room while they started trying to prep him to be moved. My mind was wrecked, to say the least. I mean, one moment, shit's fine and dandy, my friend's about to get his first lucky night with a couple of hot chicks, and just 15 or 20 minutes later, he was choking on his own blood after having been mauled by what must've been a big ass wolverine or something. This alone was enough to put me into a frenzy, obviously, but what stuck out to me even more were, of course, the pentagrams. Now, I'm no kind of religious nut by any stretch -- I grew up atheist -- but I wasn't born yesterday. I'd seen shit like this both online and on TV. I knew what a human sacrifice looked like. Not only this, but I also saw the window wide open in the room while I was trying to revive Wydell. One thing I knew for a fact was that Ronnie never opened that window, usually so he could keep the weed fumes contained whenever he was having one of his turns with the back room. And because I also knew no one else was in there at the time, I knew this had to do with those girls. They did that to him and then fled out the window, disappearing into the night. That much was certain to me, even then, with my brain scrambling worse than a pan of eggs. What *wasn't* making sense to me was why and/or even how. Okay, so maybe the chicks were part of some crazy murder cult or something. Again, that'd (maybe) explain the pentagrams. But even still, though, how the hell could they have done *that* to him?! Wydell was then rushed off to the hospital as police then arrived at the house. The rest of that night was spent being interrogated by the police. We tried telling them the same thing I've been saying here; that we don't know shit about what went in in that room, but it was still another 4 or 5 hours of them assaulting us with questions before they finally let us go home. Zack, Ronnie and I split up from there; with them (at least I assume) going back to the campus while I decided to head to the hospital to check up on Wydell. Admittedly, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to expect, other than to hear that he didn't even make it there. I guess it was a relief then that I stood corrected when they told me he'd actually stabilized. The doctors told me he was asleep and had been for the past 3 hours. "We almost lost him." the doctor added, chuckling dryly. "But whatever your boy's on, it's some powerful stuff." "What do you mean?" I asked him. "Well, you saw him, right? Losing as much blood as he did, plus several slashed tendons and even one or two slashed arteries, he should've bit it before we could get him on the table. But he's still kicking, sleeping now like a baby." He chuckled again when he said this. I stared confused at him. "Sorry, wasn't meaning any disrespect, just astonished by it, that's all." "Yeah, okay, whatever, can I see him?" He looked at his watch. "'Fraid not, pal." he said, looking up at me, tapping his watch. "Come back in about 6 hours." With that, I turned and left back towards the campus. On the way, I texted Ronnie and Zack, telling them Wydell had made it and was okay. Ronnie texted back. **-- "Thank god! What do U think could've happened?"** I texted back, telling him "Fuck if I knew." **-- "He must've** ***really*** **wanted it rough, huh?"** \-- "Dude, what the fuck! Our boy is put in the hospital and you're making jokes?" **-- "Sorry... Seriously, though, who were those chicks anyway? You know 'em?"** \-- "No, man, I told you, I've never seen them before. I don't think they're even from the college." **-- "Then how'd they find my place? I mean, you know our Halloween party was "Invite only", right?"** I stopped. There was another enigma, one I never even considered before then. He was right, we, or at least me and Ronnie, had only told a select few people that we were even having that party at his house that night. And whoever we *did* allow on the guest list, we made sure all four of us knew about it. We also explicitly stated the whole "Invite only" thing to the guests, meaning that they weren't allowed to bring anyone else in on it, either. Well, again, that's how me and Ronnie did, anyways. That led me to wonder then, who, if not me or Ronnie, knew them and invited them? The only options were either A, Wydell himself, or B, Zack. I told this to Ronnie. **-- "I doubt Zack would've known. I'll ask him, though."** After that, I drove back the rest of the way to the campus and headed back to my dorm, where I crashed out of sheer exhaustion. Despite this, though, I didn't sleep well. I couldn't get the image out of my head of seeing Wydell splayed out across Ronnie's bed like that, all hacked up with pentagrams all over him. I woke up at around 8:00 that morning, though, to a flood of texts from Ronnie. **-- "DUDE! LOOK AT THIS SHIT!"** Following this was a google link to a news article on YouTube, as well as about 5 or 6 different screenshots. Each one was of the hospital. One or two of them looked like the inside of some of the rooms all torn apart, stuff having been thrown all over the place like a tornado had swept through, while others were of actual *people* having been torn apart. Some of them didn't even have much left of them anymore, looking like hunks of bloody meat and bones scattered across the floor. \-- "Dude, when was this taken?" **-- "This morning, dude. Have U seen the footage yet?"** I responded that I hadn't and clicked the video. Footage of the hospital from the photos appeared with the headline reading "Brutal violence in hospital at late hours of the night!” It went on to show similar pictures inside the hospital, along with people, patients and nurses alike, being wheeled out of the place. Seeing the place from the outside, I realized it was the hospital Wydell was in. This put me on edge, causing me to spend the entire video tensely waiting for it to be revealed that Wydell had been mutilated again along with the others. A woman then came on screen. "Only hours ago this morning, Authorities responded to a distressed call from a member of the St. Leonard's Memorial hospital staff. According to the anonymous caller, Screams and sounds of a struggle were heard from the east wing of the facility." The screen transitioned then to a walk inside the hospital. I saw large scratches running across the lengths of both the floor and the walls. "Authorities claim to have arrived to what they describe to be a madhouse, with hordes of people clamoring out of the hospital for their lives. Police officer, Gordon LaVey, is quoted in saying that the situation was nothing short of utter chaos." It then cut to the Officer. "It was wild." he said. "We pull up and we couldn't even get into the parking lot because people were scattered all over the place. It took us almost twenty minutes to be able to calm enough people down to even get into the parking lot." It cut back to the reporter. "When asked what happened inside, this was what officer LaVey had to say." It cut back to officer LaVey. "When we could finally get someone to calm down long enough to even talk to us, the most consistent detail we could even make out was something about a "Monster" rampaging through the place. We sent a unit in, and things just went down from there." The footage then cut back to the hospital with a recording that played of the radio communications. For about the first minute or so, it was typical back and forth chatter between the inside and outside units. Suddenly, though, I could hear the inside unit starting to panic as growling noises picked up in the distance. From there, it devolved into chaos, with the inside crew shouting frantically for backup and firing their guns in a frenzy and ground crew trying to discern what was going on. The chaos escalated when just about all I could hear from the inside unit's side was screams of pain and the growling turning into straight up roaring. Hearing this made my blood freeze solid. My body was stiff. I couldn't even move my eyelids to blink. I just stared slack jawed at my phone screen as the reporter went on to say that no suspects -- human or otherwise -- were detained and that investigation into the situation was ongoing. Of course, this brought me no comfort. All I could do was wonder what the hell that growling in the background was coming from. What the hell had all the cops thrown into a panic like that, and what caused the destruction of the hospital like what was shown? This, and what the hell happened to my friend in there? Was *he* okay? Immediately after the news clip ended, I texted Ronnie back telling him I'd watched the news clip. **-- "Dude, what** ***was*** **that? You heard the shit in the background, right? Shit was freaky!"** \-- "Yeah, I heard it. Sounded like a dog or something. A big ass dog." **-- "A** ***dog??*** **What dog would be big enough to do all that; destroying the place like that?"** \-- "I don't know, man, shit, that's just what it sounded like to me. I mean, it's obvious whatever the fucking thing was, *wasn't* a person." **-- "True. Still, though, I don't know how it could've even got in. I mean, how could it have just busted in like that? Aren't there usually** ***some*** **kind of security staked out at the place?"** \-- "The hell you asking *me* for? *YOU* knew about this before *I* did." **-- "Yeah, but you were there last night, weren't you?"** I stopped. He was right again. I *was* there, only hours before this all took place. Everything was fine, both when I arrived and when I left... But then, where did this thing come from and how did I or nobody else see it? \-- "Yeah... I was..." **-- "And you didn't see any quote-unquote "Big-ass dogs" there, did you?"** \-- "No. You're right, I didn't see anything like that." **-- "What about our boy, Wy? You think he's okay?"** My heart went into a frenzy. \-- "I don't know, dude. He was out cold when I left the hospital. Docs say he pulled through by a miracle when I got there. They wouldn't let me see him, though. I was gonna try and talk to him today." **-- "Fat chance of that..."** \-- "Yeah, well... Hey, you talk to Zack yet, ask him if he knew the girls from the party last night and how they showed up?" **-- "Yeah. He swears up and down that he's never seen 'em before in his life before the party.And I believe him like I believe you."** \-- "Yeah... But then... How could they have known, then?" **-- "Dude... You don't think maybe..."** \-- "What?" **-- "That maybe Wydell might've invited them, do you?"** \-- "You serious? Wydell? I'd sooner believe it was you that did it before him. Besides, why would he invite chicks over just to mutilate him like that?" **-- "Well, I mean, if he did know them, I doubt it was because he wanted to get freaky with 'em like that. Hell, you saw the pentagrams, right; occult shit, you know?"** \-- "Yeah, I've been thinking about that. You think that's why they were at the party? To perform some sort of human sacrifice?" **-- "Possible."** \-- "Why Wydell, though?" **-- "I don't know, man. Hell, all I know is,** ***I*** **didn't invite them, you didn't invite them, and Zack didn't, either. That would have to leave him."** \-- "And now there's whatever the hell this thing on the news was." **-- "I know, man, shit's got me all screwed up in all kinds of different ways. Look, man, I gotta go now. Gotta get ready for class (it's Professor Rathburn's class today, too... Fuck me)."** \-- "Okay, let me know if something else fucked up happens without me noticing, okay?" **-- "Got it. Also, see if you can talk to Wydell, see how he's holding up and if he knows anything."** \-- "I'll try, dude, although I don't know how I'd be able to do that." **-- "Why not?"** \-- "Well, weren't the patients moved last night when they were evacuating?" **-- "Yeah. So check Ellis General, if they moved them anywhere, it'd likely be there, right, since it's only about two or three blocks out from St. Leonard's."** \-- "Okay, I'll try there then after my 2:30 class."

Be careful leaving food out for feral cats.

xydcfw

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xydcfw/be_careful_leaving_food_out_for_feral_cats/

I love cats. I love them so much. I want to adopt as many as possible and have them all sleep on my bed so I can watch the little cuties nap all day. The issue is, I’m allergic to them. I’ve lived with a roommate who had a cat and loved it. Waking up with my eyes swollen shut because I forgot to take my meds the night before, not so much. Sadly, my dream of having a furry friend got put off until I could get my life in order. I figured if I could get into routine, I could easily add taking pills onto it so I cold adopt a cat. I moved out of that apartment with my old college roommate into a condo my uncle wanted to sell. The condo has these electric baseboard heaters that I think are a fire hazard and so did my uncle. He couldn’t live with himself if he sold the place and it burning down afterwards because he didn’t replace the heaters. But to put in a different system cost a lot. More than he could afford. In the end he figured he would sell his place and then move into the condo after it got all spruced up. That may take him a year or so to finally get around to doing it. The people in my family all had a bad habit of putting things off. In the meantime, he let me rent out the place. I only wanted to stay for a short amount of time. My plan was to find a job in my field and move if needed. Then the pandemic hit and most employers figured out they could have people work from home. The months passed by and I had a job, but I didn't have any plans or reason to move. My uncle never bothered me to leave and I wanted to see how long it may take him to finally get ready for the home renos in the condo. Since living here, I have noticed a few feral cats outside. My heart broke seeing them out there. Cold, wet, alone and dirty. I’ve hears some people go on about it’s good for cats to live outside but the native bird population might have something else to say about that. Seeing these cats outside with rounded ears from frostbite, and God knows what diseases, frustrated me enough to want to snap at anyone trying to bring up the outside argument. But that is not what this is about. It’s about the mistake I made. I started putting food outside for the cats with a plan of buying a trap to get them fixed. If they were too feral, they needed to be put back outside, but, if possible, I wanted them to find some nice and warm home. I needed to get them in a trusting mood before I got out the traps and risked scaring them all away. Now, I understand it’s not just the cats that eat the food. They might be lucky to get some early in the night. Other animals like raccoons, possums and skunks ate what they wanted. My condo had a very small backyard made up mostly of cement squares from the previous owners. The wooden fence very much in need of repairs and gate crooked. One board of the fence fell off and that’s how the animals are getting to the steps by the backdoor. I didn’t mind. I loved to see them all when I couldn’t sleep at night. I even named some of the skunks. You really shouldn’t feed wild animals for so many reasons. I kept telling myself I would stop the moment I caught all the cats and took care of them. I only caught one who came by in the day time and dropped him off to a shelter. No one came for him and he got adopted out soon after he recovered from being outside. That kept me going. I hated the thought of any cat going hungry because I stopped putting food outside. In the middle of the night, I heard noises coming from outside. My bedroom window overlooks the small backyard and the small patch of trees beyond it. I figured it was the skunks from it being around three AM. I needed to use the washroom and felt awake. Normally I got a snack, looked to see what cute night time guest came by and then headed to bed. I didn’t turn on the kitchen light. I kept the bathroom one on upstairs and how the layout worked, the light reached downstairs letting me see enough to move around. Peanut butter toast sounded like a good late-night snack. I placed the bread in the toaster and then walked over to the sliding glass door to see what showed up that night. I didn’t see anything at first. The first-floor windows open a little so I could hear that rustling sound again. Was something behind the fence? I sometimes heard a racoon climbing up before I saw them. Or maybe they heard me inside and started to climb away. I held still, trying to make no noise and hope it made the creature brave enough to show itself. A different sound replaced the rustling. Something like a long high-pitched inhale. I nearly let out a scream when the source of the sound came. A face slowly started to peek over the back fence. Like a nightmare, that pale face kept rising upwards until it was a few feet over the top of the worn-down wooden fence. This had to be a prank. That fence at least six feet tall and this face stood four feet above that. The face wasn’t natural. It looked impossibly long and stretched out. If I wasn’t so scared, I would think it might look a bit funny in a gruesome sort of way. The head on the long neck moved forwards and I jumped when a sound came inside my house. Just the toaster. The damn thing nearly gave me a heart attack. When I looked back, that pale naked thing started to climb over the fence while still making that horrible sharp sound. The eyes dark and pulled downwards along with all the other facial features. I didn’t stay long enough to try and figure out if this thing had a gender. I turned to run towards the front door and tripped over a table I found in trash I’ve been meaning to fix up. The long creature already at the back door. By the time I got back to my feet, shin throbbing in pain, it smashed the back door open with massively long hands. People do really stupid things when they’re scared to death. With the table in my way and the creature so close, I didn’t run to safety outside but instead I ran upstairs. I felt finger tips brush against the back of my shirt as I ran, nearly falling forwards up the steps. I only looked back the moment I got inside the bathroom to see that thing’s pale outline standing at the bottom of the stairs. Face showing a smile that could stop your heart. It reached out a hand, the arm so long it nearly cleared the entire length of the steps and to the bathroom door. I slammed it shut with a very loud scream. The bathroom was the only room in the house with a lock. I didn’t think it would hold. The handle moved slightly then harder. I don’t know how long that thing wiggled the handle and banged ion the door trying to get inside. I didn’t even have any weapons besides some cleaning chemicals. Finally, the sounds stopped. There wasn’t a window in the bathroom so I didn’t know how long I sat on the floor for, cowering in fear. I left my phone on the kitchen counter to charge the night before. The time passed slowly, making me feeling every second of it. I didn’t hear any sounds for a while and started to see some light coming from under the doorframe. With bravery I didn’t think I had, I unlocked the door, peeking outside. Seeing no signs of the monster, I carefully went downstairs, entire body shaking. The window still broken but nothing else touched besides a torn open bag of dry cat food scattered on the ground. I pressed against the wall trying to get to my phone. I kept my recycling bins at the end of the kitchen counter. My kitchen and living room all the same room, but with the one long counter to divide them. I got closer and noticed that the empty week-old cans of wet can food from the bins had been placed on the counter in a stack. I’d stopped buying it because it cost so much and thought I could get more dry food for less. On a flyer someone written one word in dirt from outside in long thin letters as if the words were written with a fingertip. MORE I called the police, fixed the back glass door and set up a camera for outside. My uncle was just happy I was safe from whoever broke in. I could never tell them the real truth. I just said a crazy naked tall homeless guy broke the backdoor and I hid in the bathroom until he left. My uncle offered to let him stay with him, but I didn’t want to burden someone else with the creature I’d attracted by putting wet cat food outside. I’ve stayed and put aside money for more wet food. I haven’t seen anything besides the regular animals in the cameras but I don’t dare stop putting out the good stuff and risk that tall monster breaking in again. At least now I'm more focused on getting the feral cats caught, fixed and shots up to date. It's the least I can do for them. I have terrible nightmares of that night. I fear that creature may come again when I’m sleeping so I've started shift going to bed during the day. My life has changed a lot of ways that aren’t all that great. Please do me a favor and if you are going to feed feral cats, know what you’re doing a head of time. Don’t make the same mistake as me. You really never know what is coming by and eating the food you’re leaving out.

The kids down the street play a pretend store and their customers freak me out

xy3paw

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy3paw/the_kids_down_the_street_play_a_pretend_store_and/

Just as the title says - it began as yet another game and I wouldn’t even pay attention to it, as kids on our streets come up with something every single day, running around, screaming and laughing. Last week it was hospital and fire station, this week it’s a store. ​ They got a folding table and few chairs somewhere - probably some of the parents approved on their initiative. Then there were the goods: some leaves, stones, couple of sticks and some old newspapers. A couple of kids were sitting by the table, pretending to be the cashiers. The others had more generic roles: some boys were “warehouse” workers, bringing the products from somebody’s backyard. One girl was swiping the walkway, where the “store” was located. Other kids were security guards, shift managers (or whatever) and isle workers (I think, as considering the “store” had only one display - it was hard to do anything else rather than running around, pretending something’s happening all the time). ​ Why would I even bother telling you about any of this? Just another silly kid entertainment, right? Of course, except one thing caught my attention - a huge stack of dollar bills. I didn’t believe my eyes at first. One of the cashier girls was holding a pile of green papers tossing them around, counting. ​ Yeah, those definitely could be fake, like you know - souvenir money, with Ronald McDonald’s picture instead of presidents, but if you ask me - those looked pretty damn real: slightly worn, a bit crumpled stack of US dollars. ​ Probably one of the kids went all in and picked out Dad’s stash clean and had no idea what sort of punishment yet to come down on him. Or maybe they found them somewhere, those lucky brats. ​ But soon enough my initial curiosity turned to a complete misunderstanding of what was happening. One of my neighbors, Liam, who was walking back home stopped by the improvised store, took a moment to check out the goods and said in a cheerful voice, supporting the play: “Hello, ladies. How much for this beautiful stone over here?” ​ “It’s not a stone, mister. It’s a pack of ice cream!” - the girl said, making a comically serious face. I could hear both of them clearly, as I was sitting just across the road, enjoying my drink on my lawn. ​ “Alright, alright. My mistake, sorry. So how much for this wonderful pack of ice cream then?” - Liam laughed. ​ “Two hundred dollars, mister” - the girl replied. ​ Wow! What an appetite there - I laughed to myself. But my laughter faded quickly and I’ve dropped my jaw, seeing how my neighbor took out his wallet, spent couple of seconds checking inside and passed the stated sum. What the hell? I couldn’t believe my eyes. I didn’t know Liam that well, but we chatted couple of times and I know that he’s not a rich man. He didn’t have any kids yet, so that excluded that “i’ll give it to you now, but please give it back later” scenario between him and his daughter. I was speechless. Two hundred bucks, can you believe it? For a stone. I clearly missed some context here. But ain’t my business. So I’ve finished my ice tea and went back to the house to do something else. ​ Next day they were still there - selling junk, having fun. It seemed that the roles were switched, as now the boy and another girl were cashiers, and so on. The “stock” was updated too: some empty soda cans, egg trays and other garbage was aligned on the “counter”. But what’s more interesting - today there were way more “customers”. The Millers were there, Mr. & Mrs. Davis too, as well as some other people from the neighborhood. They formed a line and patiently waited for their turn to do some shopping. What the hell was happening here? Did somebody decide to run some sort of charity marathon and I wasn’t notified or something? I saw stacks of bills growing in number on the counter of the pretended shop and the more I looked - the less I understood. ​ So, as I knew some of those people - I’ve decided to ask around on what was this all about. I walked straight to Jake Garcia, who lived two houses to the left and shot my questions. Jake just shrugged and said: “Oh, you know… It’s just a child’s play. Don’t take it too serious.” That explained nothing. So I pushed further but got only “Man, I think you’re overreacting” in response. And the very next moment my neighbor landed two and a half grands for an empty juice box and an outdated newspaper, I shit you not. And I know Jake - we had a beer couple of times. He’s a plumber and that kind of money is more than he usually makes in a month. ​ This was just crazy! ​ The next day the performance continued. Lots of people, piles of money and some trash in return. I’ve talked to more folks and not a single face gave me a proper explanation of what was happening around here. But later something outstanding happened. ​ I was in the kitchen, doing dishes after the lunch, as suddenly I’ve heard shouts from the street, so I’ve walked out outside wiping my wet hands with a towel to check it out. ​ It was old Ron Hill who seemed to argue with kids. But in fact - he was begging them. ​ “Please” - he said - “take this as a payment. This clock is priceless. And I’m too old and tired to go to the pawn shop. Please”. ​ “Sorry, mister, our store has a cash-only policy” - the kid, who I assume played the store manager, replied. ​ This was getting out of hand. So I’ve crossed the road, intending to calm down old Ron and give him piece of mind. So I ended up standing next to him, right before the table with goods. ​ “Look, Ron. It’s just a game, no need for all this drama, ok?” - I’ve said. “They are going to forget about this tomorrow, so you don’t need to act like this. I mean, what’s wrong with you people? It’s just some junk, see?” ​ I’ve pointed to the garbage on the folding table and quickly looked over it. And then something clicked in me. Among the dirty rocks and empty coke bottles I saw it. I really wish I could describe it, but I can’t. It was the wiggling of the tail of my first dog Odie, it was the tenderness of my first kiss with the girl I liked, it was the fading laugh of my mother and the last words of my father… It was everything that I would ever want to live for and every single thing that made me happy. I’ve picked it up from the table to take a closer look, as the squeaky child’s voice said: “Hey, mister, no touching. You have to pay for that!” ​ That brought me back to my senses and I realized I was holding a broken toy truck, missing a door and a couple of wheels. ​ I’ve put it back, turned away and walked straight back home, without saying a single thing. The emotional impact of what I have just experienced was too much to take. Like all your happy moments replayed on x10 speed and then the fact that you’ll never experience them again hits you straight in the face. Never. ​ That night I didn’t sleep well. Some really dark thoughts found their way into me, whispering things, drowning me in depressive soul-searching. My life divided into “before” and “then”, and I have absolutely no idea how that happened. I just lost the will to live. Everything around made no sense anymore. My job? Nah. My potential future family? That seems like too much trouble. My friends? They already forgot about me. ​ There was just this thing. The one kids were selling. I would pay anything to get it. ​ So the next day I went straight to the “store” with the intention to get it, no matter what. And I was greeted with nothing. Just an empty street before me. ​ Well, maybe they didn’t set it up yet? I’ll wait. ​ But you’ve guessed it - hours later there still was no one around. ​ I went to see around the block, because, just maybe - they’ve switched the place of their games, but again - no table in sight. I’ve caught Jimmy leaving his house, the neighbor kid who played a security guard most of the days and asked him about it. ​ He looked me in the eye and said: “Nah, we’re not playing this anymore. We are building a spaceship now!”. ​ Should I say I’ve felt miserable and devastated? There was no light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t make the kids play the store again, I can’t set the mood, I can’t order them. All I am able to do is wait - until the history repeats itself, but still there’s no guarantee. ​ I don’t understand the nature of this. I don’t know how I trapped myself. I’ve been to doctors, specialists and even so-called dark-arts experts. The pills won’t help, the alcohol just makes me sick. Each day I look through my window hoping that the table will pop up across the street, then I would rush and pay any money they ask to make me whole again. ​ But kids grow so fast these days. I don’t know how much more I can take. And the whispering voice in my head says I’m wasting my time. It’s all futile. I’m not ok.

There's something horrifying in the disc golf park by my house...

xylg6y

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xylg6y/theres_something_horrifying_in_the_disc_golf_park/

So, last night I waited a little too late to bring my dog out for a walk. Going too far into her favorite trails was out of the question in the dark, because I've seen a coyote hanging around that area at night a few times. I think it's the same one, he's a big boy. Haven't really seen any others as big as him. For context, I live in a city in the northwest. Kind of in a more quiet area compared to downtown, but slightly alarming things have started happening here lately. Anyway, I say all his because it's not like super normal to see coyotes in this area. Really freaked me out the first time I saw him. So yea, it feels a bit strange to me. Something is off about it. I get the feeling sometimes that things are not always right here. If that even makes sense. Let's just say I've seen some weirdass shit that's kinda unexplainable. So, I took her a different way and let her sniff everything she wanted. Let her really sniff around like the little terrier she is. She loves it.. it provides just as much stimulation as a brisk walk for her. So I decided to cross the street and make our way to the disc golf park which she loves. She sniffed around quite a bit and changed paths a few times, but we eventually made it. Streetlights lit part of the trail along the side of the park. Apartments lined the right side, slightly obscured by trees and bushes. Park was netted off on the left side. Past the streetlights, I saw solid darkness. I had an uneasy feeling, but I sometimes find fear thrilling. So I continued on. Like a dumbass. Grace, my dog, was having a blast. I could hear the light clang of Frisbees hitting goal posts or whatever they're called, I don't give a single shit about sports to be frank. Grace pulled us forward and closer to the darkened part of the path. I let her sniff around where the light was fading, and debated on going further. I looked into the darkness. Dread filled my gut, an immediate anxiety induced stomach ache set in (thanks IBS). I knew we had to leave. I saw two small lights as I looked more closely, then they suddenly went out. Then came back on again just as suddenly. They.. blinked. It was a pair of eyes. There was something in the darkness 20 feet ahead, and it was looking right at us. There's absolutely no way it was human. I quietly began to lead Grace in the opposite direction, and I suddenly became unable to move. I saw gruesome images in my mind, things that I cannot even repeat or replay in my head, because I vomit anytime I visualize it. It was the most terrified I've ever been. Until I heard the voice. It slithered and slipped into my mind without making a sound. I was still paralyzed as it spoke to me. "Pesky intuition," it hissed, "I almost had you." And I nearly shit myself. The hold was quickly released, and I signaled Grace that it was time to run. Run the fuck away from whatever the fuck that was. As we were leaving the park, I heard whistling somehow coming from every direction. And this is weird as hell but... it was randomly whistling "Sail" by AWOLNATION. No clue why, seems hella random. Grace was slowing down a bit, and we were already by the entrance of the park so I just matched her speed and we fast-walked right the fuck outta there. As we made our way home, I was on guard and jumpy. I heard a noise, and then saw someone across the street repeatedly screaming "cold juice" into an intercom outside of an apartment complex. Ahh, I thought, normal city sounds again. I made a mental note not to take her out at night anymore. She has a potty pad and uses it on super rainy days and stuff. She'll be fine with earlier walks as the days grow shorter and the sun goes down sooner. I tried to eat something but absolutely couldn't stomach a thing. I was really shaken and doubting myself on what I'd experienced. I took a sleeping pill and passed out. When I woke this morning, I still wasn't hungry at all. Figured I'd force myself to eat a snack a little later while at work. I don't really eat much in the morning anyway. I started making coffee when my parter came out of our room. He went outside for a smoke. I set the coffee to brew and joined him. We both silently scrolled through reddit as we tried to wake up. "Oh shit," he said, "this is right the fuck by us holy shit" and passed me his phone with concern. "Promise me you'll he careful and absolutely don't go out alone in the dark if you can help it. Please." "I promise 100%, I absolutely won't be going out after dark without you," I said while looking at the article. There was a picture of a very young looking brunette girl with a dog on her lap, both smiling and happy. The dog looked so loved. You could see the bond between them through the picture. I took a second to take it in, because I suddenly felt very connected to this girl and her dog. I feel the same bond with Grace. The text below the grainy photo was horrifying. I'm paraphrasing, but the girl, we'll call her Therasa, was 12 years old and snuck out with the dog to take him on a secret walk or something. Parents had no clue. Fuckin kids man, we were all so goddamn weird and stupid during that time in our lives. So it seems that she snuck out and walked to the disc golf course, where she then disappeared. Her dog's leash and collar were found at the park. In the same spot where I saw the eyes. It seemed police already thought they had a lead; they also found a tent and supplies which obviously belonged to a homeless person. They seemed to think this person kidnapped Theresa and ran away with her. But I know that's not what happened. First off, I've been homeless before. No homeless person willingly just abandons all their shit. Literally their only possessions... no. It just doesn't fuckin happen. Second, I just know. I know it was the thing with the eyes. I can feel it. The tent camper had to have fallen prey to it as well. That girl is long gone... and her dog. What I felt, beyond the terrible images, was that it consumes every last bit. The feeling of blinking out of existence, I somehow felt that. I think it left the collar and leash to toy with me. To give me solid proof that Theresa took my place last night. I don't know what this thing is, but I do know I sure as fuck won't be going out in the dark ever again. I'm so sad for Theresa's family, but I know telling them any of this shit would make things worse. So I'll remain silent, try to put it out of my mind. Except I keep feeling this nagging guilt. If it had taken me instead, would it have moved on before taking the child? I can't get the question out of my head. Did a child die because I followed my gut instinct? Fuckin hell. And even through that guilt I know, the terrible truth is that I'd do it the same every time. For Grace. I'll always hate myself a little for that. But I do it for the pup. She's my life. Gotta protect her. Gotta keep myself alive to take care of her. It's how I get through my worst days. Whatever you do, don't go to disc golf parks in the dark. Maybe just avoid public parks altogether at night, just to be safe. And most importantly, follow your gut instincts. Your intuition is invaluable. Trust yourself. Never forget that.

I keep swapping places with a killer. Final Part.

xy9xeo

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy9xeo/i_keep_swapping_places_with_a_killer_final_part/

[Part Three](https://redd.it/xovmc7) **** She slid into the seat next to me, pressing against my side until I moved over enough for her to fully sit down. Even when I went to the far wall of the booth she kept sliding over, meeting my eyes and smiling as though she was a lover wanting to be close in a shared seat. I didn’t lower my gaze, but I still felt my skin crawl, and when I spoke, I could hear panic in my voice. “What are you doing here?” The woman chuckled and gave a shrug. “Several reasons. Maybe the most obvious one to you is to let you know that I could. That I know who you are, where you are, and how to get to you.” “Why, so you can kill me?” Her grin widened as she put her hand on my leg and slid it swiftly up to my groin. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. I could do it up close or far away. Make it look like an accident or a random act of violence. Like I said, getting to you might be the most obvious reason, but it’s not the only reason. Or the most interesting one.” I frowned at her and shoved her hand away from me. “Okay then. Why else?” Snickering, she propped the side of her head on her upturned hand and stared at me. “Well, to look at you, for one. I’ve seen your body plenty, but other than our little indirect interactions, I don’t have a full picture of *you*. You know, your personality, your intelligence, that kind of thing.” I glanced around the coffee shop. I could try to call or signal for help, but what good would that do? What could I say that anyone would believe or that would get her arrested or even detained? They’d probably lock *me* up, and I’d lose the chance to actually learn anything new. So I forced myself to stay calm as I gave her a nod. “Okay. Why do you care about that?” Her eyes widened. “There we go. I like good questions, and that’s a very good one. By way of an answer, I think I’ll tell you a story. The story of how I was once like you.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, kinda.” She paused a moment to see if I had a response, but I kept quiet. The longer I could keep her talking, the more likely she’d say something that might help me get out of this or beat her. So I just nodded, and with that, she began. **** I told you before this isn’t my first rodeo, and that’s true. Twelve years ago I was driving home from work one night when suddenly…well, I wasn’t. I was sitting in a hospital waiting room in what I learned was Kuala Lumpur, though that took me a bit to figure out. Turns out I was in the body of a seventy-five year old Malasian man who’s wife was dying of lung cancer. It was very scary and disorienting, but once I was satisfied I wasn’t dead or dreaming or crazy, I started trying to attack the problems and questions before me. First off, I was still *me* for the most part. I had my memories, my personality, things like that. But it wasn’t a clean swap either. I realized this when a nurse came in to give me an update on my wife’s latest test results. I talked to her normally, pretending like I knew the woman she was talking about and that I was saddened by the latest bad prognosis—I’ve always been pretty good at faking that kind of stuff, and I did improv for a couple of semesters in college, but I still give myself credit for holding my shit together at the time. Just talking to her, asking questions I thought she might expect me to ask, while still trying to figure out how I’d gotten stuck in the old man I saw in the waiting room mirror. It was halfway through the conversation with the nurse that it struck me. I wasn’t talking to her in English, but in Malay. And while I consider myself to be somewhat worldly, I *do not* know how to say a single word in Malay. I spent the next day and a half as that man. As disorienting and terrifying as it might have been for you or for Taylor your first times, at least you had me communicating a little. A touchstone to outside reality letting you know that it wasn’t all just inside your head. Because even after I felt I’d convinced myself I wasn’t crazy, the doubts would still creep back in. What if I really was this old Malaysian guy and I was having a break from reality? It didn’t help that I kept finding little things that didn’t match with my memories of myself. I’m not musically inclined, for example. But that night, when I went back to where the man and his wife lived, I found an old guitar in the corner of their bedroom. Without even thinking about it, I picked it up and started to play. It filled me with a strange sense of peace for about thirty seconds, and then it hit me that I shouldn’t be able to play it if I was really me. Throwing it down, I went back out into the city, prowling the streets until I found an all-night internet café. I looked myself up. I kept a decently low profile even back then, but I was less careful before this started happening, and it didn’t take long before I found enough to know I did exist and that whatever this was, it wasn’t me being crazy or just a dream. I spent the next few hours walking around, trying to decide what I should do next, and I wound up at this little place eating breakfast as the sun came up. By then I’d grown more accustomed to that body, but everything was still strange—my eyesight was terrible and my hearing wasn’t much better. Everything was stiff, and whenever I got up, my joints ached for a couple of minutes until I got warmed up. Even the food I was eating tasted different, and I wasn’t entirely sure it was just because of the locale. I was pondering this when suddenly I wasn’t in a restaurant. I was in an airport, about to board a plane. That’s when I first knew for sure that it really was me swapping bodies with someone else. The man had booked a flight back to Malaysia within an hour of our swap, on my credit card no less. He was trying to get back to his wife I guess, but by the time he was waiting in line with his boarding pass, he was back where I’d been, eating breakfast. I never had a chance to confirm it, but this swap hadn’t been his first time. Couldn’t have been. He’d been on my laptop booking the flight back too fast, and to the extent I’d retraced his route while in my body, there weren’t any signs of someone going through the process I’d went through of figuring out what was going on or why. To one extent or another, he already knew. Not that it helped him in the end. I couldn’t remember his name, but I remembered enough about the hospital and area that I was able to keep an eye out for the obituaries. Maybe it was morbid curiosity or some instinct to find more pieces of the puzzle, but I didn’t have long to wait for an answer. I couldn’t recognize his name and I’d never seen her face, but when his face popped up there a few days later, I had what I needed to dig deeper. Most of the information came from an another article three days earlier. The man had apparently come back to the hospital to learn that his wife had died while he was away. Flying into a rage, he’d tore through the cancer floor before disappearing into the stairwell. By the time security came up and tracked him to the roof of the hospital, it was already too late. When he jumped, he hit a parked car and bounced off, crashing halfway through the window of an administration office on the hospital’s first floor. Big news in that day’s news cycle over there, but as it turned out, even bigger news for me. Because right away it told me that him dying didn’t affect me. I wasn’t hurt or killed by what had happened when I wasn’t in his body, so despite our connection, whatever the source or nature of it, I was still safe. What I learned a few months later was that his death hadn’t ended anything either. That’s when I swapped into someone new. You see, once you start swapping with someone, you’ll keep swapping with them for so long as you’re both alive. But once one of you dies, the survivor keeps on going, and in time they start swapping with someone else. And while I’ve always suspected that my first swap had some experience and knowledge, I’ve only met one person that had things somewhat figured out. Her name was Debbie. She’d been swapping back and forth with people since she was seventeen, and over the years, she’d gotten very good at it. What, for a lot of people, would be terrifying, she saw as liberating. Like she’d been chosen by God to live dozens of lives. I didn’t buy into her religious hokum, but I couldn’t deny that it was supernatural or at least beyond my ability to explain. So I made a point of talking to her. Leaving her notes, writing her letters. We even got to where we’d talk on the phone as we became friends. Before Debbie, I’d always felt like an intruder or a voyeur. I’d found ways to make it fun and exciting, sure, but the uncertainty and mystery of it all made it hard to fully enjoy. Debbie helped with that, giving me a better idea of how it all worked, even if neither of us really knew *why*. So some people just naturally start swapping, like me…and so far as I can tell, Taylor. This isn’t some long-standing phenomena I don’t think. Best me and Debbie ever figured out, the only accounts that seem to match what we’re doing go back a couple of hundred years, but they’ve ramped up over time. Still very rare, of course, and those “accounts” are almost always written off as fantasy or insane. But anyway, it happens now from time to time. What is probably of greater interest to you is the fact that not everyone comes to the swap meet through random selection. If a person in a swapping pair dies thinking of a specific person, there’s a very high chance—no guarantees, but a very high chance—that if that person is alive, they’ll be the next one selected as the dead one’s replacement. **** I broke in, unable to hold my tongue any longer or keep the anger out of my raised voice. “That’s why you had him hold my picture when you killed him!” She scowled at me. “Lower your voice. And yes. You were arguably a loose end, but I also had the impression from going through Taylor’s stuff that you were a good friend, intelligent and level-headed. Someone I could talk to and work out an arrangement with if you were reasonable, or get rid of if not.” The woman smirked. “Though I have to tell you, your little outburst is making me question if you’re worth reasoning with.” Swallowing, I gritted my teeth as I replied. “I’ll stay calm. So…so what else did you learn from Debbie?” She shrugged. “At the time, not much. She was ahead of me, but there’s no rule book for this stuff. You learn by experience, experimentation and, in the case of me and Debbie, collaboration.” I frowned. “Well what happened then? She must have died, right? Or why else are you still swapping with new people?” She stared at me coldly. “Well, obviously. And it hasn’t been the same since I lost Debbie. I’ve had a lot of fun, but the monotony gets to you.” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re bored of swapping to new bodies?” The woman snorted. “No. Are you slow? The opposite. I can go for weeks or months between people, and there are times in there when I get worried it’ll just stop forever. That’s why I try to make the most out of the times I get.” “By killing people.” She smiled thinly at me. “Yes, but I don’t kill my swap partner so long as they aren’t a threat or obstacle to me. Taylor was smart and determined, and he would have eventually found a way to find me, possibly expose me. I hated to lose him, but it was him or me.” Her smile grew larger. “And I’ll always choose me.” God, I wanted to kill her right there. But that would be stupid. Someone would stop me, and *I’d* be the one that got arrested. Instead I tried to think of another useful question. “You know when it’s going to happen, don’t you?” Her laugh was warm this time. “See, I knew I liked you. Yeah, I can tell. I couldn’t at first. I would have vomited my guts up the first time if the old man had left his wife to eat anytime soon. But the nausea gets better over time. You get control quicker and you start getting a little tickle in the back of your head, kind of like an itch. It’s gotten so I can tell when its coming a few minutes or hours ahead of time depending on how it feels, but nothing more precise.” I nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I knew that from the video.” She frowned. “I know you knew it from the video. That’s why I made the video that way. As a simple test to see what you would notice and figure out. Don’t make me like you less by bragging about something that only proves you’re not an idiot.” I flushed and started to respond when I realized how bizarre this all was. I was feeling embarrassed, about to *defend* myself to this woman, this monster, when what I should be doing was “Sorry Alvin, got to cut this short.” With that, she stood up and looked around the coffee shop as she reached into her purse for something. It was a long black pistol, and even as I began to cry out, she was already firing. Her first shot went through the man behind the counter, followed by two in the back of the old woman paying for her coffee. She turned then, shooting each of a family of four as they scrabbled for the side door. A couple of those she only wounded, so she shot them again in the head as they tried to crawl away. Someone had triggered an alarm, maybe a fire alarm, by that point, and several people had made it outside, but that didn’t stop her from emptying the last of her rounds into a young woman cowering beneath the espresso machines. The first of the police were pulling up as she threw down the gun and laid down on her belly. She didn’t say anything or even look my way until they pulled me down onto the floor next to her. Then, just as they were handcuffing her and lifting her back up to carry outside, she met my eyes for a moment. And gave me a little wink. **** They treated me as a suspect for the first hour, and as a possible accomplice for the next couple of hours after that. They knew from the store videos that I hadn’t done anything, but they also knew she’d been sitting pressed up against me for twenty minutes before she stood up and started her murder spree. I knew better than to tell them the truth, so I told them what would make at least some sense: that she was a stranger, an attractive woman who had just come up to me at the coffee shop, and at first had seemed normal. We had just made small talk, and I admitted it all seemed odd, but she was hot and I didn’t have anywhere to be, so I decided to just see where it went. Then she got up without warning and started killing everyone in sight. The cops didn’t like that answer, but they couldn’t dispute it either. There was no connection between the two of us that could be proven, and I could honestly tell them that I didn’t even know her name. They finally let me go an hour ago, and I’ve spent the time since writing this all down as fast as I can, the real true version of what happened. I need to send it to someone fast, because maybe it’s my imagination, but I think I feel a faint tickling in the back of my head. Maybe what she told me about that is a lie, but I **** *That’s as far as he got before the swap unfortunately, but I think I can finish this for him. Most of it is going to educated guesses, but I have gotten pretty good at this.* Alvin swapped back to find himself in a holding cell. On the concrete floor he found a wet blue balloon and an empty sandwich bag. He may have even figured out that I vomited that balloon up after I was alone in the cell. After he realizes how his stomach is beginning to hurt, he might even realize that the little bag had been full of a potent and fast-acting poison. If not, maybe the residue on his new lips will give him a clue. In his lap he’ll hopefully find the other item from the balloon. A small, neatly folded note for him I wrote hours earlier. Not because I had to, but because I saw no harm in it. Perhaps it helped him understand, and if not, at least it made the end of our game feel a bit more satisfying. Like saying “checkmate” when you knock over the other player’s king. The note said: **In case I don’t tell you before now—if the other one dies while you’re in the loaner, you keep it free of charge. Keep your chin up, Debbie.** **** The police talked to me again the next week, but it was half-hearted. They still wanted to know more about me and Deborah Haskins of Vancouver, BC. Yes, it was true she’d somehow committed suicide while in holding the week before, but they still found it strange that there were no ties between us. I smiled and gave them a shrug. This body was a good one. Young and healthy. No signs of neurological problems, and I’d known from Taylor’s social media that Alvin kept in good shape. It was nice to be a man again, and if I’m being honest, Alvin was better-looking than I’d been in my prime. Over the last week I’d practiced being him enough I was fairly comfortable, but I was still mindful of making my smile match the few videos of him I could find. Not too big, not too long. Just a small, almost bashful grin as I met the detective’s gaze, maybe with a bit of my own twinkle in the eyes. “I guess it’s just a mystery, but then detectives live on mysteries, don’t they?” He glowered at me. “Don’t be a smartass.” I stood up and grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair. Alvin’s taste in clothes really was terrible, but I’d have to improve it gradually so no one paid too much attention. I planned on staying here, at least for awhile. “Sorry, but I really do have things to do.” His scowl deepened. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I grinned at him, one of my real smiles for just a moment as I lifted a middle finger toward him and headed for the door. [“Anywhere I please, motherfucker. Anywhere I please.”](https://redd.it/9ndww5)

I brought my girlfriend on a trail hike to propose to her, but we ran into a pack of wolves

xxz605

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxz605/i_brought_my_girlfriend_on_a_trail_hike_to/

I’d been planning the proposal for seven months. I always knew I was gonna ask Dana to marry me at some point, but it took a long time to find a memorable place to ask the question. I wanted something memorable. And I guess I found it. There was a dense National Park near our city that my family hiked and introduced Dana to. She was a rock climber so she was used to longer treks through the woods to prime spots. In the park were dozens of intersecting trails and pathways that would take even the most seasoned hiker weeks to traverse all of them. Most people just stuck to the classic four to five main trails. But on a lesser known one, there was a secluded lookout at the furthest point of the trail, 7km from the parking lot, separated from it by dense forest and steep ravines. It was almost jungle-like terrain in the centre. The lookout was a large, rock slab protruding from the woods that oversaw the entire park from fifty feet up. In the fall, the canopies below caused the entire park to look like a beautifully random patterned quilt. Dark and light reds, yellows, oranges, greens and browns. My parents took my brother and I there and introduced us to the view. Then they told us that was where my dad proposed to my mom. At that moment, I knew I’d be asking Dana the same question at the same place. Eight months later I’d saved up enough for the ring and planned the proposal for a Saturday in the fall. It was supposed to be beautiful all day but with a storm rolling in later at night. We figured we’d be long gone by then. We packed our usual snacks and drinks for the hike, and I snuck a small-sized bottle of champagne into my backpack. The ring was in its box, in a ziplock bag, zipped up in an interior pocket in my pack. I wasn’t taking any chances with it. Because the other thing was, the park had become ground zero for a growing homeless encampment. The tent cities that populated our lower town had been pushed off the streets and into a public park. Then into another. And another. It was an impossible situation that continued to be handled the wrong way, and fostered growing resentment and bursts of violence. The city needed to crack down on the drug and assault problems in the encampments so the homeless had now moved on to filling a national park. I’d seen some homeless people out and about on the trails. You could tell who they were, obviously. They weren’t dressed for a hike. But they never bothered anyone or caused trouble. They just wanted somewhere quiet to live how they could. Still, it was always something that stayed on your mind when you entered the trails. Especially with the large rock on the ring in my backpack and the complete lack of cell reception in the park. Which was why I now carried a Damascus steel Bowie knife. And Dana always packed bear mace. We set off on the trail at noon. I was aiming for us to hit the lookout by 2pm, propose, and be back to the car by 5ish. As we went further along the trail, clouds overtook the sky and very little light made it through the canopies. The woods got darker. Even though Dana and I typically had back and forth banter through our hikes, I’d planned to spend most of the walk going over my proposal in my head, making any last minute changes before the lookout. But instead… I found myself thinking about the awkward walk back to the car if Dana said no. I was doubting myself, trying to push the proposal to a later date at a location that was easier for her to say “no” in. Like she’d feel trapped up there and would have to say “yes.” I don’t know why I was thinking that way, but all of a sudden I wanted to rethink the whole thing. All because, for some reason, I now thought Dana was going to say “no.” The walk up felt extra long. On top of me trying to convince myself out of proposing, there was a strange anticipation in the air. I couldn’t tell if we brought it to the forest, or if it was already here. But something felt off. And smelled even worse. We didn’t see any animals or critters of any kind. In fact, we didn’t hear anything. Birds, insects - nothing at all. And we didn’t come across a single person on the trail. No hikers or any of the homeless. It was just me and Dana. Finally, we started the climb up to the lookout, and I’d fully talked myself out of the proposal. I made plans in my head to wait and propose on New Year’s Eve. Or… maybe in the spring. First day of summer. For sure. Maybe I’d wait a year. We were young. Why rush? Then we walked out onto the ledge overlooking the vast park, and I saw the look on Dana’s face that made me fall in love with her and always caused my knees to buckle. I remembered why I saved for eight months at a job I hated for a ring for her. We stood at the edge of the lookout, arm in arm, and gazed at the beautiful vista. I was thinking about how to start. I’d had the idea to begin with our first date, and how it’d been at a house party that ended up getting trashed. Dana and I met on the front lawn, and drunkenly watched as the trees were filled with toilet paper and the house went to hell from drunken teenagers. But my memory was cut short. There was rustling somewhere behind us. Twigs cracking. Branches bending and snapping forward. And breathing. The strangest, pained and struggling breathing. But fast and heavy. Images of a group of homeless men with knives and used needles appearing from the dark woods flooded my mind. They’d go for Dana. They’d get her. They’d get our stuff. They’d get the ring. And they’d kill us and bury us somewhere in the woods. Or throw us over the edge of the lookout and it would be called an ‘accident.’ The bushes continued to rustle. Finally something emerged, but much lower than my eye-line. I thought it was a dog at first. A German Shepherd. But it wasn’t a dog. And there was more than one. There was a pack of six wolves staring out at us. There was something else to them, though. Something frightening and desperate and frenzied surging behind their bloodshot eyes. It was more than hunger. It felt like chaos. Demented, ravenous chaos. They were twitching and rapidly blinking. Their mouths had bloody foam spilling from them. Their legs and paws were slicked with blood and dirt and garbage. All I could think was rabies. Or something similar. Dana and I backed up, though we only had another five feet until the lookout dropped off. I slowly pulled my blade out, and Dana reached into her bag for her bear mace. She searched for it. And searched. But it wasn’t there. Dana had forgotten to pack the mace. I put my arm in front of Dana, stepping in front of her. The alpha wolf stepped forward, matching me. It had a fresh wound across its face, with blood and pus spewing from its right eye. The rest of the wild animals followed the alpha. Though they all carried the same crazed look. I realized they were all going to come in, really fast, and hit us hard. The look in their eyes was telling me they didn’t care if they tumbled over the side with us. There was just no thought or reason in them. They’d gone completely mad. As I was readying myself to start swinging and trying to toss or shove them, one at a time, over the edge… Dana yelled my name. She was pointing down one side of the lookout. There was a path of sorts that you could climb down. Dana was a seasoned rock climber. I was not. But we didn’t have much of a choice. Or time. She started to climb and I got an idea. I pulled the champagne bottle out of my bag and popped the cork, spraying the bubbly all over the wolves. That bought me a few seconds before the animals reoriented themselves and came at me. But I bought enough time for Dana to climb down the side of the lookout, and me to follow close by. The wolves got to the edge as I climbed down just far enough that I was out of their reach. They barked and snarled and I felt their heated breath and bloody slobber spray down on me. But I kept climbing, following Dana’s path down. I tried not to look below to see how far up we were. But I did. We were ten feet from the canopies, which would be another thirty feet to the ground. Dirt and small rocks skittered down from above, hitting my head. I looked up and saw one of the wolves had gone over the edge. It fell like a missile just to my left, howling and narrowly missing us and disappearing into the canopy below. Then another one came over. But it was falling directly towards me with its teeth gnashing. I yelled Dana’s name, quickly instructing her to move to the right. Then I scrambled and found footing just to the side, narrowly avoiding the ravenous wolf as it shot down beside me. But Dana didn’t. The wolf’s upper body and legs connected with Dana’s shoulder, and took her with it. Dana screamed out for me as she fell, disappearing below the canopies with the wolf. I started climbing down as fast as I could. I had no idea if the path down even went anywhere, but I kept finding footing on shrubs and rocks to use for grips as I descended below the canopies and saw thick layers of branches populating the trees. I was glad the trees were dense. I was hoping Dana had caught on to one on the way down and the wolf had fallen to its death. Then I heard her. Dana cried out to me from the forest floor. She was alive. But she sounded like she was badly injured. I tried not to think about what state she was in. I tried not to think about the wolves falling from above. Or if they’d found a way down and were going to beat me to Dana. I just thought about getting to her. And whatever state she was in, carrying her somewhere safe to wait while I got help. There wasn’t a chance I could carry her 7km with the wolves out there. They’d get the scent if they hadn’t already. I got closer to the ground and finally looked down. The first thing I saw were the two wolves. One was dead, its head exploded against a rock cluster. The other one had its lower half twisted backwards. But it was still alive. And pulling itself towards Dana. Dana was in really bad shape. She was laying on her back. Both legs looked broken, but one especially so with bones piercing through skin. She was covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises. There were burn marks on her under arms from rubbing against tree bark on the fall down. But she didn’t appear paralyzed. Her upper body was moving, as were her legs even though they were clearly broken. But through the pain and crying, she was very aware and even looked almost mobile. The wolf was crawling closer to Dana. It was snarling. Snapping and frothing as it used its front paws to pull itself towards her. I climbed the last ten feet down in a hurry, not worrying if I fell. But I managed to find footing on each step until my feet hit solid ground. I ran over to Dana just as the wolf was getting to her. I didn’t think about what to do. I just sprinted over to them and kicked as hard as I could. My shin connected with the wolf’s lower jaw and snapped the animal’s head back, completely shattering its neck and spine. I got down and held Dana, trying to calm her. I quickly made tourniquets for both legs out of my belt and an extra t-shirt. She said her breathing was tight and her ribs felt off. She hit the canopy hard and played pinball against several thick branches before landing feet first. But she was alive. Dana knew we had to move, and that it was going to hurt. She took a thick piece of wood and used it to grit down on. I picked her up. She strained and bit down. But we started moving. I still had adrenaline pumping through my veins, but we’d just hiked 7 km before the tense climb down, and my legs were starting to burn with the extra weight I was carrying. I knew I could make it back, but there was no way I could get us both there. Then I saw it. A medium-sized brown structure. A shack. An old park ranger post. I carried Dana to the structure but of course, it was locked. After eight heavy kicks, I managed to break the door in. Inside, we found an old first aid kit and Dana started trying to dress her many wounds. I knew time was precious and told her I had to make a run for the parking lot. We needed paramedics and a police escort out of the woods. And the longer I stayed there, the sooner the wolves would pick up our trail of blood and scents and find the shack. I got Dana to lean against the door after I left, hoping her weight would be enough to barricade it shut if and when the wolves arrived. Then I ran. Based on the direction of the lookout and the rocky path down, I knew exactly where I was. And sadly, it would take longer to get to a trail or path then it would to cut right through the woods. So I did. I didn’t think I had the time to waste. Especially with how dark it was getting. I could barely see up through the trees, but when I could, the clouds were dark. I knew I could run 10k in under an hour. This was 7k, but it was through rocks and twigs and brambles and through bushes and ravines. I kept telling myself to just keep a solid pace and watch for footing and I’d get there in time. But I also kept my eyes open and darting around. I kept playing the worst case scenario over and over in my head. And that always involved the wolves catching up to me. Tearing me apart. And Dana not getting help in time. Then I saw something ahead. Red tarp. Green. Blue. Then tents and clotheslines. There was a homeless encampment. But it was now a cemetery. I tried to avoid looking down, but I counted five men and two women in varying states of being eaten. Stomachs and necks were opened and innards spilled out. It was horrifying. It wasn’t just the people though. Everything was shredded. The clothes, sleeping bags, boots. The small amounts of food in the camp was all over the place. It was a complete frenzy of destruction. Then I saw the bags and bags of drugs and needles all over the ground. Most looked like they’d been eaten in varying degrees. As I was making my way through the destroyed campsite, I tripped on something. I looked down and saw it was someone’s arm, chewed off at the elbow. Clutched in the hand, was a small calibre revolver. I didn’t want to touch it, but something inside me told me I’d need it. So I took it. I started running again, but I let doubts float through my head. Whether I’d make it in time. Whether I was even going in the right direction. Whether the wolves would catch up to me. I told myself if I could just make it to the parking lot - if I could just make it to cell phone reception - if I could just get an ambulance and the police - and if we could just get to Dana before she freezes or bleeds out… My thoughts were meshing together in a feverish blend. I couldn’t really tell what I was doing anymore. My body was on autopilot, just ambling forward. Then I heard the howls behind me. I turned briefly to see shadows darting through the darkness of the woods. It was the wolves. They’d found my trace. My adrenaline kicked back into gear and my legs pumped up and down faster. I clutched the gun in my hand, waiting for the animals to get closer. I didn’t wanna waste any bullets hitting air. I heard sets of paws behind me and I turned back, firing off three rounds at the quickly gaining shapes. The chase behind stopped for a moment before the wolves continued after me. I had no idea how far I had left to go, but I knew I couldn’t keep this up much longer. Finally, through the trees ahead, I could see red and blue lights. There were sounds of sirens. Of men. Movement. I ran towards it. The sounds of the wolves were gaining again. I turned back and fired the last two rounds at the pack, causing them to spread out. I burst out of the woods and onto the entrance of the parking lot. The joy I felt of my feet hitting cement was short-lived. A gunshot roared out and I felt my shoulder tear open. I fell to the ground. I’d been shot. I had no idea why I’d been shot, but saw several police cruisers and officers filling the parking lot. Behind me, I heard the wolves coming out from the tree-line. I turned and saw the main wolf, the scar-faced alpha, leading the way. The wolves got ten feet from me before the police finally saw the situation and opened fire on them. The wolves were all killed and I was quickly rushed into an ambulance. I told the cops to go in and get Dana in the ranger post. I wouldn’t leave unless she was safe. But I didn’t have a choice. I was taken to the hospital for the gunshot wound to my shoulder. It was explained to me that the police officers had been called to a disturbance at the park and possible deaths were occurring involving a homeless encampment. What had happened was a pack of wolves had been driven south, looking for food, and came across the encampment in the park. They’d eaten the food, which had been kept with a varying assortment of drugs. The drugs sent the wolves into a feverish insanity and they began attacking people in the park leaving seventeen dead - twelve homeless and five hikers. The police didn’t know about the wolves when I burst through the trees and out into the parking lot. All they knew was they’d been called out here for a disturbance involving the homeless. They’d heard gunshots, then saw me, a bloody and dirty guy with a gun, waving it around as I ran out of the forest like a madman. A nervous, green officer got trigger happy and fired the round that caught me. It was understandable, I guess. I was lucky he was the only cop who shot, actually. I went into surgery immediately, but tried to fight and push it until I knew if they’d found Dana. A few hours later, I woke up. Two police officers were there and informed me Dana was found. And she was alive. After two weeks and multiple surgeries, doctors had managed to save both of Dana’s legs, ribs and fixed the heavy internal trauma and hemorrhaging she’d suffered in the fall. The park was cleaned up and a group of new staff were hired to patrol it. And as usual, there wasn’t a solution for the underlying problem. It was just swept off to another park. I went through a few months of physio for my shoulder, Dana went through a year and a half. But she made it. And she was jogging and rock climbing as well as before. A few weeks ago, we hiked the trail again to the lookout. And she said ‘yes.’

I got a job as a night guard at a local supermarket. I am already quitting

xy11sq

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy11sq/i_got_a_job_as_a_night_guard_at_a_local/

Keeping up with college fees is difficult to say the least. If I want to get a job, it would, 9 times out of 10 a night shift job. During the day, until about mid noon I have lessons and from then until about 6 pm I have to do my homework. As I was scrolling through an endless supply of ads for minimal wage jobs, I came across one for the supermarket five minutes away from my campus. I sent an application through their email address. Surprisingly, they accepted it almost instantly. It had taken me by surprise when they sent an email back telling me that I was expected to show up tonight, at 10 pm. It was still 7, so I made dinner and waited until about 9 to start getting ready. When I arrived, the day shift worker was already leaving. He showed me around a bit and right before he left, he told me that there was a set of rules I have to follow in a book at my desk. Besides me there was just the night cashier, with whom I only exchanged a few words. I went back to my table and in one of the drawers I found the said manual. Here is how it went: "Hello, night owl. We welcome you to this position as a night guard with set of rules to follow to ensure your safety. 1. Once about 20 minutes, do a round through the store. Should you notice anything out of the ordinary, immediately return to your desk and hide underneath. It should leave after about 3-4 minutes. 2. Once every half an hour, go to the back of the store and count how many boxes there are. If there are more boxes, pick any which you want and through it in the dumpster behind the building. If there are less boxes, it's too late. Get out of the store and lock the doors. Only return an hour later. 3. Talk to the cashier once in a while. Take notice of their appearance. Should they have a weird distinctive feature, take the gun from the drawer and shoot it. If it doesn't have a face, repeatedly yell at it to get out. It will eventually leave. DO NOT SHOOT IT IN THAT CASE, YOU WILL ANGER IT. 4. Sometime during the hour of 3 am, somebody will come in here, asking to speak with "Jimmy". Keep saying that he doesn't work here and it should leave. 5. NEVER manually open the doors for somebody outside. The doors are automatic. It can't trigger them. 6. If someone is heading to the Check-out, even though they never entered, shoot them. No double-guessing. As long as you follow these rules, you should be fine. Good luck!" I closed the book and thought about what I had just read. Surely this was just a try from the management of the store to keep me alert. Still, 21 minutes had passed since my shift started. I decided to do around. As I was at my last 2 isles, i noticed that at the base of one of them was a bag similar in appearance to one of chips. Only it didn't have any kind of label. I picked it up and noticed that it was heavier than it should've been. I ripped it open and an eye starred back at me. It was a bag full of eyes. I dropped it and sprinted to my desk and hid underneath. I waited there until the alarms in my head stopped ringing, about 5 minutes later. I got out and went back to the isle the bag was from. It was gone. Just as I was processing what had just happened, I realised that half an hour had already passed since I started work. I quickly made my way back to the store. There needed to be 33 boxes. And just as the door creaked open, a box that hadn't been there before was sitting in the middle of the room. I didn't even take a good look at it, that it was already in the trash outside. I got back to my desk. Things were quiet for a while, but i remembered the third rule, took my gun and went to exchange a few words with the cashier. I didn't need to get too close, that I noticed it. The cashier only had one eye in the middle of her face. I pointed the gun at it and it didn't even flinch. I pulled the trigger. After a few seconds, a cashier with a normal looking face emerged from under counter as if nothing had happened. Again, I made my way back to my desk. Nothing happened for what I would estimate was an hour and a half. Suddenly a man enters the building with a dark shadow casted over his face by the had he was wearing. As he got closer, I realised that only skin covered the eyeless, mouthless and noseless face. He started telling me that he wanted to speak with "Jimmy". The sound didn't sound like it was coming from him, but rather from all around me. I kept telling him to leave and eventually he did. Again, just like the calm before the storm, things quieter down. After a few quarters of the hour had passed, I heard tapping at the glass doors. Sure enough, there was a "human" at the door, mouthing the words "Open it". As there was nothing in the book mentioned about what I should do in this situation, I just ignored him until it was gone. It was 4 am at this point and my shift ended at 6. I decided to do a round at the back of the store. I counted the boxes. 32. I got the hell out of there, told the cashier about that, and we both got out and locked the door. We waited for what seemed like the longest hour in the world. She didn't really seem fazed by any of this. I guess she was no stranger to these things. When we got back inside, someone was making their way to the front of the store with a basket full of goods. Even though they never entered. I just shot it and it turned to dust. Nothing happened, but when the day guard arrived, I was already making my way to my dorm by speed walking. Even though I had escaped that night rather unscathed, I won't risk it again. Better in dept than in grave. P.S. As I am writing this they keep sending me offers to work as a night cashier. They said the last one had quit the day before and another one was supposed to show up the night i worked there, but they didn't.

TOOK SICK

xy52w1

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy52w1/took_sick/

I was sixteen when I took sick. That's how my grandmother said it, "took it" like it was plucking something off the shelf down at Goodreaus's Hardware, a fleeting choice made without consideration. It was 1984 and I'd been out hunting with Eddie Volin. Eddie was driving deer toward me, down off Morrison Hill, which is where the big bruisers holed up in the dense poplar growth when they took a break from chasing during the rut, when the moon was full. Eddie had flushed a corker – two-sixty if he was a pound, at least that’s how I remember it. But memory is a funny thing that way. You think things are bigger than they were and when you revisit them, with the benefit of years, they seem impossibly smaller. I had seen him coming and lifted the old .30-06 to my shoulder and fired and it struck flesh but it wasn’t that twelve pointer. The bullet sliced through Eddie’s neck and he had coughed, choked, and wheezed as his blood spilled out onto the dying foliage beneath his body. Eddie would often hunt by himself and it was just as likely that he’d been out there alone as it was that he was hunting with me. And wouldn’t it be like some Masshole up here looking to get a real deer and not one of those jackrabbits they have down there to shoot a local and leave him for dead? I didn’t touch a thing, save for scooping up my shell casing. I went home and when I got there I went to my room and fell facedown into the pillow and cried. When the tears were spent I went over to Eddie’s house with the rifle slung over my shoulder. I knocked on the front door and Mr. Caliendo answered and I asked if Eddie might like to go out looking for a deer before dark came and Mr. Caliendo said he’d already trudged out the backdoor with his .22 shortly before legal shooting hours started that morning. He hadn’t seen him since and maybe he thought maybe he managed to get himself a buck and was having some trouble dragging it out. I thanked him and went home and my father’s chipped beef on toast went down even more difficult than usual. At dinner, my father looked at me with suspicious curiosity. He could smell it on me, I thought. I realized that was foolish, and it wasn’t until later on that I realized he could see it on me. When I crawled into bed, I stared out the window across the river and saw the stacks from the mill belching out their plumes, the tallest of them with a blinking red cyclops eye, shrouded in smoke from the shorter ones. I heard the hollow, rapid thumps of logs falling off a conveyor into an empty metal hopper, without a discernible pattern, pounding rapidly like an irregular heartbeat. And when the ten o'clock whistle blew at the fire station, it sounded like the bleat of a foghorn from a ship in dense fog. The scritch scratch scritch scratch at the window in the middle of the night woke me, a craggy fingernail moving across the pane, beckoning me. They called it Cancer Valley for the clusters that would pop up here, which everyone attributed to the mill. My great-grandfather had come over before the Great War as the old folks called it, and at first had worked the log runs when the town was something out of the Old West. Gun fights and saloons, stabbings, brothels on every corner. When the paper mill had opened, gentrification came with it. When my grandfather went to the Pacific and came home with a mangled leg and a 50% disability, he got a job on the number ten paper machine and my father had done the same after Vietnam. After the country had chewed them up in the war machine as best it could, the mill took what was left and every night before bed I laid there looking at the lights and wondering when it would take me. When Eddie hadn’t returned that night, Mr. Caliendo called the sheriff and in the morning the game wardens brought a dog in and a bunch of people formed up a search party. I decided it would look odd if I didn’t join, so I casually wandered toward the base of the ridge where I knew Eddie was, trying to make it appear as if I didn't know where I was going but still wanting the Caliendos to be able to give him a proper burial in good time. Jim Haskins found him, and fired his rifle in the air and set to blowing on a whistle. They hauled Eddie out and as his body passed, carried on a makeshift litter, I thought his eyes stared right through me and I could still hear the gurgle in his throat. Eventually, the woods cleared out, the search party returned to town, now as a makeshift funeral procession. I stayed in the woods because I knew I had to. The scritch scratch scritch scratch had been playing in my mind like a drumbeat since the night before and I had a debt to pay. I sat on a log and waited and when I finally looked up, I saw the casebearer, hanging on the branch of an oak tree. I stared at the tree and the larval sack seemed to grow before me. It was made from silk and bits of wood and what emerged from it, I couldn’t say. Because putting words to such horror was not possible, which is why no one in town ever dared speak of what was in the these woods. Because if you were to speak of it, to acknowledge that it existed, that would somehow be worse than doing what it asked of you. It wasn't a craggy old man that crawled out of the sack and it wasn't a monster and it wasn’t evil, because what kind of evil visits in the night at your window and does you no harm? When it sat down beside me, I looked over and it was a woman and she was beautiful. She asked me if I knew the choice I had to make and I said I didn’t but that was a lie. I guess I just hoped it wasn’t what I thought, and maybe it was something else. But it wasn’t. Since I had summoned the evil it was now on me to decide what to do with it. I could accept it and it would consume me, devouring my soul. Or I could simply pass it on. That’s what most did. They didn’t accept responsibility, so evil spread, like the diseases that permeated the blood and bones of those that sucked in the noxious fumes from the mill. So I made my choice and she leaned over and kissed me on the lips. That was my first kiss and it left a taste in my mouth like match heads. That night I slept as soundly as I had since my mother passed. Over the next couple of months as the snows came and the winter rime formed, darkened by the mill’s soot, the evil grew inside of me. No one acknowledged it or even spoke of it. Because how do you acknowledge such evil? On Christmas Eve, after we'd returned from Midnight Mass, my father got into his Seagrams and Ginger a bit more than usual and looking at my ravaged frame he confessed that he knew what I’d done because he’d seen me and Eddie heading out to the woods that morning as he’d been walking to work. He asked if I recalled the boy when I was ten, Charlie something-or-other, who had been killed in that hit-and-run accident. I said I didn’t and he said that’s probably because it was right before my mother took the cancer and died. He told me that my mother had hit Charlie, drunk, on her way back home from her sister's house, having a few too many Allen’s Coffee Brandys. She'd left him there, dying in a ditch up past Three Pools. He had begged my mother to pass it to him but she wouldn’t. My father now begged me to pass it to him and I said I would think about it. Dennis just sat in the easy chair, staring silently at the low embers on the hearth. Well before dawn, my father shook me awake and told me I had to come with him because he wanted to forget those things that he’d done over in Vietnam. Every night he laid away, begging for the casebearer to come to him. But the scritch scratch never came to his window, and he reasoned that maybe he had summoned the evil too far from this place. So we went out, a fresh crust of snow on the ground that Christmas morning, the stars still arching above us. And when we got to the log where I'd sat in the fall it climbed out and came to us and sat there. When I looked over, I saw her and told her I wished to pass it, as my father had asked me to. So that was when he took it from me and we buried him when the ground fully thawed in early May. But not before I had locked him in the basement that whole winter, as he begged for me to let him pass it on. That was a longtime ago and I’m getting old now and I finally have the courage to do what I should have done all those years ago. So I'm going out, two sets of footprints in the snow, breath bellowing out of us in the cold. And I'm going to accept what I've earned because now it is my turn. I’ll take it and it will consume me and I can already taste that sulfur in my mouth but then, I suppose, it has never really left, just like the gurgle from deep in Eddie’s throat.

Pious Pierre does not approve of your social credit score

xxztz9

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxztz9/pious_pierre_does_not_approve_of_your_social/

I recently moved into a new community. I’d been down on my luck when I found a flier off the side of the street advertising various homes, apartments, and neighborhoods. So imagine my confusion when at the very corner of the flier told me a house could be rented on the cheap- in this economy. I laughed as I read in, wondering if it was true. Figuring my luck, I thought it was a prank, but seeing that I’d just been given notice I could no longer stay at my apartment, I decided to give it a shot. “Hi,” I began, calling the number listed. “I, um, I saw your ad?” “Wonderful!” a monotonous but cheery voice replied. Some bot. I was starting to think this was a prank. “Please hold as I connect you to a human being.” I waited, listening to jazzy tunes. I was about to hang up when the phone clicked, and someone picked up. “Hey,” a woman’s voice manifested, “heard you want to settle into the beautiful First Kasden Neighborhood?” I looked at the ad. “Yeah? No way you have-” “The rent so cheap?” the woman finished, laughing as she did. “It’s no lie- we have so cheap because not many want to settle down in our truly glorious neighborhood.” This was getting weirder. “Why not?” She laughed again, almost in a mocking tone- yet there was a teaspoon of- what was it- sadness? “Here in First Kasden we’re a gated community, and see- we’ve got some rules here. Some people don’t seem to like em and only the open minded live here.” “Okay?” I continued. “I think I can deal with some rules?” “We operate under a social credit system,” she explained. “We all help each other in our little community. If you don’t help out- well, your credit goes down and if it gets too low-” “You get kicked out.” “Something to that effect,” she laughed once more. “And if you attend gatherings, help out with our small little school and stores. Well, then you’re all set for fine days living in the First Kasden Community.” I thought I would settle for attending a few gatherings for a nice place to live. It sounded like a good offer, given my circumstances. Plus, I’m a very sociable person, I’d manage. Social Credit or not, this sounded go, so far. I smiled and said: “I’m in.” I never knew how wrong I would be. Jeremy Pritchard was friendly. Exceedingly so. He was so friendly it seemed fake. And yet, somehow, he seemed genuine, and was a good man. He was old, constantly wore plaid shirts, and was balding. He seemed like the personification of every single old guy made into one. I first met him as I was moving in. A taxi ride brought me to the gates of the community, and there he was. Old Man Pritchard right at the gates, smiling and waving. He had this aura of calm and peace to him. “You must be Ash!” he greeted with a smile and a wave. “On behalf of the community, welcome to First Kasden!” I smiled back, instantly taking a liking to the man. “That’s me alright. Looking forward to living life here.” For a second, his face changed, almost as if he was disappointed. Behind him, something caught my eye- a mural of a clown dancing, a microphone in one hand and a gavel in the other. As Jeremy led me into the neighborhood I began to see more images of the creepy clown. More pressingly, as we entered were the troves of people lining the streets to say hello, and honestly, I kinda felt like a celebrity. “So what’s the clown guy about?” I asked, right as we entered my house. Jeremy sighed heartily as he moved two of my larger bags into the house. “It’s our mascot. Pious Pierre.” “He’s a bit creepy, isn’t he?” I joked. “Yeah, but creepy or not, he’s ours,” Jeremy answered. “Anyway, there are some rules you gotta follow- or else- well, you won’t like what Pious Pierre’ll do to you if you don’t.” “Ominous,” I laughed. His face was stern, as if- as if he wasn’t joking. He must have sensed I was confused because a second later, he smiled and laughed. “Welp, the important thing is you gotta go to some of these events,” he handed me a calendar. Events, like he said, were dotted on it, plus numbers. “Those numbers are the points you get for going. Go- and you gain them. Don’t go- well, then your score goes down.” “Fair.” “You start here with a score of fifty,” Jeremy continued. “Scores are displayed on the community board, so you can check. Doing good, helping others rewards you, and not being a productive member makes you lose out. Oh- and Pierre’s always watching.” “What does that mean?” I inquired. “Just do good,” Jeremy repeated. “Someone’s always gonna be watching you.” “Alright,” I shrugged. Old Man Pritchard held out a hand, and I shook it. I liked the old man. He was nice, and though my time in the community, he was the only one who seemed to show any genuine decent towards people. Or maybe it was because his credit score was low. Real low. The first time I checked he was sitting at a twenty, right where the community called the orange zone. After poking around, I found out a dispute between him and a neighbor was the cause. I also found myself losing points shortly after asking around- apparently it wasn’t polite to do so. The months after that went well. I was majoring in education in college and found myself volunteering as a substitute teacher for the community school. Meanwhile, I made some friends at a Pen & Paper club, though none seemed to show any true genuine friendship. People were much too focused on getting their credit score back up. Pious Pierre the clown watched us all intently, and I wondered who exactly was keeping tabs on us. I hadn’t noticed any cameras, so I wondered if it was all just word of mouth- and yet something about it all just struck me as odd. It didn’t matter to me. I was just happy for a place to live. The only true friend I made was with the old man. Jeremy was old, and as the weeks passed he got more brazen. He got drunk. He began to tell stories, rumours, and lies. It all fun and games, but still, his credit score began to lower. He was a good man, but unfortunately, Pious Pierre did not approve of his credit score. And finally, while drunk, he practically burst into my house to critique all the small little things he hated about the community. Everything from Mathilda Stewart’s terrible brownies to Pious Pierre and the point system. “Listen to me now kid,” he eventually began, taking a swig of rum before speaking. “You should leave the community while you still can.” “What?” I blurted. “I love it here!” “Kid, they’ve made it so I can’t go anywhere else,” he continued. “The rest of my money can’t support me out back in the real world, no, not in this economical crisis. And I got no family but you kid- you hear that- you’re about as close to family I got.” “Okay?” A pause. “Look, nobody else is gonna tell you this but we live in fear. In fear of him. Of that monster of a thing. Pious Pierre. Who do you think runs this place? Him.“ That’s when I realized I never thought about that. Who ran the place, that is. All throughout the months I assumed there was a board of directors or a council- and yet I hadn’t heard of anything. “Right,” I replied. “My credit scores’ going down and I’ll be gone soon,” Jeremy confessed. That was true- he was at a low ten. The red zone. “You need to know that he’s watching, always watching. I don’t know how he does it- but that thing can see and hear everything.” “Maybe we should take you to a hospital-” “Kid, you gotta leave before you end up cursed like me,” he pressed on. “Before I met you I lived with my wife. She didn’t bother with the social credit. She just laughed it off as a trivial thing. A month later she was gone.” “Gone?” “Yup,” he confirmed. “Gone. It was night, two men broke in and took her away in a car. I ran after her- they were taking her to the school. I went after silent, trying to get her back- but before I knew it, they threw her into some closet. That was the last time I saw her.” “What?” “I tried to get her out- believe me, but it was solid metal and locked. I could only hear her screams. I’ve only seen the thing that lives in there once. Pious Pierre is a monster. A demon. Something not of our world.” “I-” “I cried for an hour, just across that dungeon. Eventually, the two men came back, ignored me and opened it up. That’s when I saw it. Monstrous thing, covered in blood.” “Are-” “So I warn you one last time, kid,” he sighed. “Get out before it’s too late.” That was the last time I saw Jeremy. He went home after that, and checking the credit system, I found that he had zero credits. It was over for him- if his story was true. But he had told bizarre stories countless times over and yet- for this one I knew it was true. I went to sleep that night afraid and confused. And I also woke up around two in the morning to the sound of screams. It was Jeremy, outside, resisting against two people with masks on- the masks of a clown. They were dragging him- or at least trying to. Old Man Pritchard, however weak he looked, was still putting up a hell of a decent fight. He had a gun too- but his shots missed and though I swear at least two hit the men in masks- they did no effect. I had to stop this- I just had to. Whatever was going on here wasn’t right. I burst out of my house, trying to stop the two, but by then they were in a car, swiftly driving away- I remembered what Jeremy had told me- the school! I opened the garage, seated myself in my own car- I had finally earned enough money to buy one and sped off to the school. I followed them, finally arriving. I stalked behind them, quietly sneaking inside. Weirder though, was the fact that all around me- the murals of Pious Pierre had changed- no, WERE changing. The clown was moving, laughing silently. They pointed at the school- at the closet that led to darkness and death. The two men in masks opened the closet and for a brief second- right before they shoved Jeremy inside- I saw it. A thing with too many limbs and a neck impossibly long; a far cry from human kind. It was large, gluttonous from human flesh and its clownlike face smiled, and an impossibly long tongue licked itself- all over its face. The Clown-Thing burst into monotonic laughter that didn’t seem quite human nor beast as Jeremy was shoved inside. It licked its lips once more and- the door shut with a bang, and I could only hear the screams of the old man that had been my friend. I raced to the door, pounding on it, ignoring the two men- who ignored me. Still, there was nothing I could do. His fate was sealed. I checked my phone, hoping to call the police- but stumbled and instead opened the community board app by accident. Jeremy was already gone- removed from society. He wasn’t on the app anymore. As if he had never existed. But worse, was my score- going down by the second. It had been an eighty-four the last I checked but now- it was at a forty, and going down- fast. “Get out before it’s too late.” I remembered Jeremy’s words. And I intended to follow them. I practically leaped into my car, drove home- making sure to gather all my essentials, and left, driving out. As I began to leave I saw two men in clown masks head towards me, but I swerved past them. Around the neighborhood the murals of Pious Pierre laughed again, pointing at me. I looked at the side mirrors- the two men had appeared inside my car in the backseat. One of them tried to reach for me but a swift turn knocked him out of balance. The exit was near now- I could see the gate. It wasn’t opening, and one of the two men behind me had an arm around my throat. To hell with it. I drove up the speed and crashed right into the gate, slicing through it like butter- and the second I was out the two clown-faced men were gone. I looked back one final time. The two men were there right behind the broken gate. The mural of Pious Pierre was crying now, though he seemed angry- instead now pointing at the two men. And the two men in masks looked scared. Checking the community board once more, two people’s scores were going down- going down to zero. It’s been a while now, and I’ve been doing much better. I got a job as a teacher, and I live in a quiet part of the city in a pretty cozy apartment. It’s not the awesome lifestyle living in the gated community was, but it’s better than under the threat of that- that thing. Sometimes I wonder what it was. Other times, I wish I could forget it all happened. Either way- if you see an ad for a house that just seems too cheap- don’t trust it. It might just be the First Kasden Community. And if you do find yourself living there- watch out. Pious Pierre might not approve of your social credit [score](https://www.reddit.com/r/JulianPageInstitute?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share).

Here comes Toby Buttons!

xyht9v

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyht9v/here_comes_toby_buttons/

Toby Buttons was just a little character me and my best friend Steve made up because we wanted to feel better than all the people who were better than us. He wasn’t so much a nickname or caricature of a single person as he was a catch-all way to make a mockery of all the traits that indicated future success and secretly made us jealous. Every time a classmate reminded a teacher about the homework or got praised for doing exceptionally well on a test or assignment we would mouth the catch-phrase to each other: “Here comes Toby Buttons!” One of us would pantomime doing an effete little twirl and we would laugh under our breath until the teacher noticed. In fourth grade we thought that being the first boys to try a cigarette and then start chewing tobacco somehow made us cool. By the time we got to High School and had also been the first to try beer, then weed and finally the harder stuff we knew it made us losers. By the time we couldn’t even handle coming to school sober we knew we weren’t “trying” anything, it was all we were. If we couldn’t get loaded before wandering into third period we would meet at the moldy old couch in the woods behind the school and scheme on how we were going to make it happen. Once we were a little looser one of us would do “Toby Buttons” - smiling a mischievous little smile and prancing around the woods until we were both rolling with laughter. Once we had dropped out and taken jobs at the same shitty little factory our fathers worked at there was nobody left to make fun of. All the kids we used to mock had become actual grownups, they’d either gotten good jobs or gotten into good colleges leaving us and our sad little town behind them. Steve was my best friend but I never actually got to know him, at least not really. The truth is that I never really got to know anyone, not even myself. I had spent my whole life running and hadn’t moved a single inch. Both of our wives left us in the same week. They hadn’t even been talking to each other, once they became too good for us and too good for our town it meant they were too good for each other too. They had discovered internet dating just in time to leverage the last of their good looks and escape the suffocating cloud of failure that stuck to us like a bad smell. Steve told me he had come home to a note after work on Tuesday. Friday morning there wasn’t even a note. We’d been sleeping in separate beds since the miscarriage three years ago. I knew she was gone before I even noticed she had taken all her clothes and most of our valuables with her. For the first time in years Steve and me decided to hang out after work. My old man had drunk himself into an early grave while Steve’s seemed to be hanging on out of bitterness alone and had started making his life a living hell. We went to my place. Neither of us knew how to talk about our feelings but we knew how to drink. We were about tied on working through our twelve packs and had each drained our pints of the same cheap whiskey we’d been drinking since High School when Steve got up to piss. I heard him call out in the same jokey falsetto: “HERE COMES TOBY BUTTONS!” I actually cracked a smile for the first time I could remember when the sound of his stream suddenly stopped. Then I heard the sound of shattering glass and a sickening thud that was far too loud to be an accident. Still my first thought was that Steve’s drunk ass had probably fallen over as I ran upstairs to the open bathroom door. The mirror was shattered and covered in blood but even more concerning was the wall behind it. That one had a circular imprint of much darker blood punctuated by little globs of gore that were starting to succumb to gravity and slowly slide toward the floor leaving little trails in their wakes. A thicker trail led down to where Steve was slumped against the wall, the way his head and the wall intersected I could see the back of his skull had been smashed completely flat. The truly terrifying thing was standing above him. A short little man stood their smiling, his eyes, nose and ears all ended in impossible points. A little green Peter Pan hat sat on his head with a single brightly colored feather. His green shirt was far too tight against his chest and right down the middle were three oversized black shiny buttons. His legs were mostly bare except for a tiny green pair of shorts and his feet were covered in pointy little elf shoes also each decorated with one oversized button. As I stared in mute horror he crossed one arm in front of his chest and lifted the other into the air above his head. Bending one knee he pointed his toe toward the floor and raised himself onto the point of his other foot. Staring me dead in the eye he smiled even wider, gave me a wink and began to twirl

I thought my apartment was haunted, the truth is so much worse

xxduzh

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxduzh/i_thought_my_apartment_was_haunted_the_truth_is/

In retrospect, it should have been obvious from the start that there was something going on. It was my first time renting an apartment, but even I thought that the landlord was eager for me to move in as soon as possible. The rent was ridiculously low for the area, the apartment itself was in pristine condition, and the whole process from touring the apartment to moving only took about a week. Nothing like that comes without a catch. Apartment 311 was a pleasant place to live at first. It had 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom, and since I lived alone that meant I got to convert one bedroom into my own office space. It came with a handful of paintings already, so it didn't even have the off-putting liminal feeling that some empty apartments have. The only immediate downside I could tell from the start was that there a slight smell in the living room from time to time. It wasn't anything too noticeable but you would occasionally get a faint whiff of some sort of musty odor. I was living in apartment 311 for a couple weeks before I noticed anything was wrong. It started out with simple stuff, like various knick knacks being placed on the wrong shelves, snacks and small objects going missing, things like that. Once or twice I found the fridge left open. These things would only happen when I was asleep, and it made me feel like I was going crazy. There was no way anyone could be breaking into my apartment just to steal some useless crap and move around some collectibles. The door was locked whenever I went to bed, and even if someone hypothetically had the key, I always made sure to bolt the door as well. I considered getting some security cameras set up, but I balked at the price when I looked into that possibility. Though the apartment was admittedly cheap, between rent and utilities I still couldn't afford to set up an entire security system. I tried to put it out of my mind, assuming that maybe I was just sleepwalking, or getting up for a midnight snack and forgetting by the next morning. I'd never been an easy sleeper, I was often prone to night terrors and other disturbances, which had only gotten worse now that I was in an unfamiliar environment. Of all the sleep problems I've experienced, by far the least pleasant is sleep paralysis. It used to happen fairly rarely, maybe once every 2-3 months, but after moving into the apartment it became an almost weekly occurrence. Now, usually my sleep paralysis is fairly mild. I find myself unable to move, eyes open, and I find it difficult to breathe. Sometimes I feel like there is a presence in the room with me, but before I moved I had never experienced any form of hallucinations, visual or otherwise. I'd never seen a ghost, monster, hag, or any other sort of entity while I was paralyzed, it was only ever a sense of dread and total paralysis of the body. That changed about the same time I noticed the missing food and misplaced objects. As usual, it felt like I had woken up, but couldn't move a single muscle. It was hard to breathe, and I had this awful feeling like I wasn't alone. I tried to calm myself down, to remind myself that I had been through this before, and it always wound up okay, but something felt... different. It was then that I noticed the door to my bedroom slowly opening, inch by inch. I could hear the creak of the hinges as it swung inward, someone or something was coming into my room. He peeked his head around first, dull eyes reflecting the faint glow of moonlight from my bedroom window. He was bald, with pale flaky skin. I wanted to scream when I saw his expression, but I was still a prisoner of my own body. The man had a forced, rictus grin on his face, chipped yellow teeth clenched tightly together, grinding against one another. I watched in horror as the rest of the man's body slowly passed into the room, tip toeing as if he were creeping up behind someone in a cartoon. The man was utterly emaciated, almost skeletal in appearance, and covered in sores and pockmarks. He was stark naked and smeared in dirt and filth. I could do nothing but watch as he slowly inched ever closer towards me, until I could feel his hot breath upon my face. It smelled like the musty odor I sometimes detected in the living room. Not once did I see his expression change, he didn't even blink as he stared at me, and I could feel hatred radiating off of him like heat from a furnace. He just stood there, looking at me for what felt like hours. Eventually he turned around and slowly sneaked back out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him. A few minutes later I started to be able to move again, the paralysis wearing off as my body started to wake up properly. I had to call in sick to my job that day, the experience was such a shock to me that there was no way in Hell I'd be able get any work done. I spent a good hour just checking every room to make sure I was entirely alone. I searched in the closet, underneath the sinks, in my office, anywhere I thought someone could be hiding. When I found nothing, I managed to convince myself it was all a hallucination, that I was safe. Things continued about the same for a while after that. Objects still went missing from time to time, the smell in the living room stayed just as musty as it ever was, and about every week or so I'd have another sleep paralysis incident. Of course, now every time I did experience sleep paralysis, I'd have to see my unwanted visitor again. I named him Jimmy, to try and reduce the terror a little bit, putting a silly name to a horrifying face helped lessen my fear slightly. As far as sleep paralysis hallucinations went, Jimmy wasn't too bad once I started to get used to him. He never touched me or sat on my chest like some people's nightmares did, he just stood and stared. It was still deeply unpleasant, mind you, but I felt lucky that it was a consistent kind of unpleasantness at least. Then I found the photograph. I noticed it underneath a pile of papers while I was doing some cleaning up, a picture of two women embracing in front of a waterfall. I didn't recognize either of the women, and I assumed it must have been from the previous tenant. I texted the landlord, Greg, and asked if he still had the old tenant's phone number so I could give her a call. He obliged, and within a few minutes I was calling her. She picked up after a couple rings, sounding slightly exasperated. "Hello this is Rebecca, who is this?" "Hi, my name is Flora, I'm the current tenant of apartment 311, I think that you may have left a photograph behind when you moved, I was wondering if you'd want to pick it up or I could mail it to you or something?" There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Hello?" I asked. "You need to get out that apartment, you're not safe." I honestly didn't have any response but to laugh. "Is this some kind of joke?" I asked her between chuckles. I heard her sigh with frustration. "Its not a joke, I'm serious. Things have been going missing right?" That got my attention. "How do you know that?" "It happened with me too. My girlfriend and I kept noticing things being moved or disappearing while we were asleep. Little things mostly, snacks, trinkets, nothing major. Now, I never saw this, but my girlfriend swears one time when she got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water she saw this naked man just staring at her. He was covered in sores and looked more like a corpse than a person. She woke me up and we called the police of course, but they didn't find anything. I think..." Rebecca paused for a moment, choosing her words. "What? What is it?" I asked, increasingly panicked. I began to worry that "Jimmy" was more than just a simple hallucination. "I think 311 is haunted. We asked around to some of the other residents, and apparently the last guy to live there just disappeared. Our best guess is that he must have died and his spirit just never left. My girlfriend is into some occult stuff, so she tried a cleansing ritual or something like that, but it didn't work. Things kept disappearing, and eventually we just decided to move." I hung up the phone. It was rude, sure, but I was just so shocked that I didn't know what to do. At the very least I began to understand why I got this apartment for so cheap. I found myself just sitting on the couch for a while, occasionally getting a whiff of the musty smell. I stared blankly at a painting on the wall, one of the ones which was already there when I first moved in. It depicted a woman in a white dress sitting underneath a tree reading a book. I couldn't tell what was making me so focused on it, it seemed utterly unrelated to what was happening. Eventually, I snapped out of it and went into my office to do some research. After a little bit of digging, I found out some information regarding the tenant who lived here before Rebecca, the one who disappeared. Apparently one of his coworkers put out a missing persons report 6 months ago. His name was Michael Hansen, and I gasped when I saw a photograph of him. He looked exactly like "Jimmy", albeit not so emaciated and filthy. I hastily packed some of my things and made arrangements to stay at a friend's house for a couple nights, telling them that my apartment had a roach problem and the landlord needed to fumigate it. I called into work and gave them some sob story about an uncle dying, enough to get time off for a few days. With no more distractions from the ghost of Michael Hansen, I slept soundly on my friend's couch, unbothered by any sleep paralysis. The next two days were spent researching. I checked out dozens of books on folklore and the occult from the local library, scoured paranormal internet forums, and even watched a few episodes of some cheesy ghost hunting TV show. I was determined to figure out a way to put the spirit of Michael Hansen to rest. The stories were all wildly different, with countless potential solutions to my problem. Some sources said salt was a surefire way to banish spirits, others said iron was a good ghost repellent, but most simply said I should give up and move. However, one myth piqued my interest. According to some beliefs, the spirits of the unquiet dead could be tied to objects from their life, binding them to the place where the object resided. If the object which their soul was bound to was destroyed, it freed their spirit and they could move on to the afterlife. I remembered the paintings. I had assumed that they were put there by the landlord, but it was just as possible that they were left behind by Michael. I arrived back to the apartment, determined to grab the paintings and burn them, laying Michael Hansen's soul to rest once and for all. I felt like some sort of hero, a badass monster hunter who saved the day with her intuition and a little bit of booksmarts. One by one I pulled the paintings off the walls, putting them in a cardboard box. I made a mental note to buy some lighter fluid on the way to the empty lot where I planned to burn them. I approached the final painting, the one which showed a woman in a white dress beneath a tree. I pulled it off the wall and recoiled as the musty smell increased in intensity. Staring in confusion, I saw a small rectangular hole where the painting used to be, about 4 feet off the ground and 2 feet by 2 feet in length and width. I shuddered in fear, remembering that Michael's body was never found. Perhaps he was murdered, his corpse hidden in the walls by some unknown assailant? I nervously flicked on my flashlight, peered within the hole, and screamed. I ran out of apartment 311 as fast as I could before calling the police, sobbing with terror. I had been prepared to find a body, maybe cut up into little pieces and wrapped in duct tape. I was ready for death and decay and rot. There is something fascinating about ghosts, something somehow romantic about the notion that part of someone could live on even after death. There was nothing romantic about seeing the clenched-tooth grimace of Michael Hansen, glaring at me with hate as he stood in the small section of hollow wall which he had been living in for the past 6 months.

An Abandoned Mental Health Facility was the perfect place to explore, until we went inside...

xy7bf2

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy7bf2/an_abandoned_mental_health_facility_was_the/

In Redding California a Mental Health facility was built. They said it was made to help in the tri city area yet rumors ran their course. Most of the people taken were either homeless people or declared insane. In a town that had little in money or resources, this meant that no one kept track of what happened to them after. After five years, they closed down without a word, never to be heard again. ​ David told me all of this with a mischievous grin. He knew this kind of stuff was right up my alley. Putting down the Survival Magazine i bought from Barnes & Noble, I admit he had me hooked by the end. He barely had to ask when he extended his hand to bump fists. “Its been a whole month and no ones coming back for the place. Its the edge of town and we got nothing better to do on a Friday. You down?” ​ I grabbed all my best gear that I hoarded over years of Larping as a Stalker in Pripyat. I lent David my spares as he grabbed his camera equiptment. With backpacks full of everything ranging from MREs, water, and gas masks, we were set for anything. ​ The trip was in a busted Honda civic I got from a Craig’s list exchange downtown. Wind blew in our hair on the I-5 with heavy metal blaring in blown speakers. It was just past the edge of town at sunset when we arrived. Funny thing about Northern California is as soon as you leave the border of a city it changes in an instant. Miles of tall dry grass and taller trees as far as the eye can see. It was in one of these thickets guarding a dirt road where we made our stop. ​ I pulled out a Pall Mall, offering one to David who politely declined and we made our Plan. ”Alright, we go in. We take a few pictures and stay within thirty feet of each other. Flashlights on. And as soon as it hits 75 percent on our phones we roll out. I want a good amount in case things turn south. Any questions?” ​ David seemed annoyed by me taking charge but shrugged and let it go. He knew stuff like this was my hobby which is why he asked me to join him. “And if we run into a psycho down there to chop us up?” ​ I pulled out my Army Surplus Knife with an evil grin. “We chop back with these.“ I tossed him my old machete and began the trip inward. ​ It was a dirt road we were taking so it wasn’t even considered a hike but it was about a mile and a half till we arrived. The Building was an ominous slab of concrete shaped into a cube, half hazardly painted white. The red band around the top made it look like more than an abandoned warehouse yet it was the size that bothered us. “Hey Travis. “ David Tapped my shoulder. “Wasn’t this place supposed to house like a thousand people?” ​ “That’s what you told me.” I shrugged but agreed with the insinuation. “Why Does it look so small?” The whole building couldn’t have been more than a small apartment complex in size. With the windows concrete slits and the iron doors chained up, it looked more like an abandoned parking garage than anything. ​ With a pair of bolt cutters Meth Heads would be salivating for we broke the chain to the front door. Despite the chain it remained locked so I looked closer. The lock On the door was a Master Lock. Same Brand as the dollar store. I rolled my eyes, muttering to myself. “They really spared no expense.“ As David kept watch I whipped out my lock picking set and got to work. It wasn’t five minutes before I heard the click of the latch and in we went. ​ The entrance was as expected. Dark and empty, spiderwebs on abandoned office equipment. Graffiti lined the walls as well as what David and I assumed to be fake blood. Punk kids and squatters wasted no time. Neither of us were too worried until coming across some of the rooms. Beds and recliners lay in sterile rooms next to abandoned equipment. Wires with little pads hanging off the end showed that electroshock therapy was apparently alive and well. David shuddered at the thought of being subjected to such misery. With the dismal green of the walls and lack of light, it looked more like a torture chamber. ​ We took our time exploring and gathering photos. Venturing further in we found a room full of filing cabinets. The thing was that in there we also found another door. This one going to a basement. Not only was it covered with a gurney, but the pair of doors were chained as well just like the front. I looked at the lock as well. Much more expensive and not worth picking in the dark. ​ We checked our batteries and the percentage lay at 85. No excuse to pull out thought the find was unexpected. I eyed David and raised a shrug. “So what do you think?” ​ David mulled the options over. “Can you get in?” ​ “That’s not the question.” I clacked the bolt cutters twice like Pac-Man. “All The tumblers in the world wont save you from a pair of irons. “Question is do we want to?” ​ David shrugged in return, unspooked from the trip so far. “We came this far.” ​ I nodded in agreement. Snapping the chains apart I pried the door open with my crowbar and David shed some light inside. A stone set of stairs led further into darkness. I swallowed hard descending first to prove my bravery. Going down was when I noticed that just above the door were the spray painted words “EMERGENCY KEEP OUT.” ​ The deeper in the darker it got. Weirder too as any charade of it being a mental health facility was gone within the first few rooms. The equipment got more technical and the trappings of a home for the troubled were non existent. The exception being lab coats and drawers full of tools that looked to be for surgery. A foul smell of ammonia filled the air followed by the undertone of copper. It was so bad we decided to don the masks, Lord only knew what diseases we were getting but still we traveled on. ​ It was then we heard a low clicking down one of the tunnels. it sounded thick and throaty with an echo. Crazy enough it reminded me of those giant birds on TV. I think they were called a Shoebill if I remember right. The sound seemed to come from behind us as well yet it likely was the echo. I stopped low and listened for it to come again. “Did you hear that?” I asked David as he crept beside me. ​ He nodded in response. “ What do you think it was?” The tension was thick in the air yet nothing had popped up enough to justify leaving. I guess neither of us wanted to be called chicken. ​ We waited there for a minute or two until David broke the silence. “Do you see that? Over there!” His fear was immediately replaced by excitement as he rushed into an adjacent room. I followed after and as I stood in the doorway the view shocked me to my core. Giant tubes of glass with pools of fluid stood shattered along the wall. A Green glow emanated from the a backup computer which I assumed held its own generator. It gave the fluid in the vats an ethereal glow as we stood in awe of what must have been some kind of biological housing case. The question was for what? We wandered around the room with jaws open. It was when I turned my flashlight to the wall beside us when the fun’s subsided. ​ A man in a lab coat lay with chest torn open. It’s face was completely bitten off and his ribs lay open like a blooming onion. End trails hung out of him as his limbs were gloved of any scrap of meat it save the sinews dangling among bare threads. I choked back my revulsion as David began to hyperventilate behind me. That low clicking reverberated again yet now it was loud and baseful, vibrating through the room and up my spine. Before I could turn around the piercing shriek of my best friend tore through my ears, cut short by tearing meat and a wet slop hitting the floor. ​ I’ll admit that I’m a coward. I’ll admit that my gear and dreams of exploring came to nothing. I ran from that room and back in the dark from whence I came. Leaving my friend behind I never dared to even look behind me, our weapons never even came to mind. ​ The gas mask came right off as tears ran down my face. My breath gasped in every fouled ounce of air choking as tar gurgled in my lungs. I tore down that hall as fast I could, praying to whatever God would listen that I would make it out alive in sobs that never made a sentence. It came nothing however. I turned that tunnel to reach the stairs and saw why the click echoed behind. Its skin was grey of blueish hue with a ring of feathers around its face and neck. It’s jaws held teeth instead of beak, glimmering with yellow eyes as it stared me down in the light from my hand. It’s arms held claws like knives yet were nothing compared to the blackened barbs as big as my arm which that thing called it’s feet. ​ It stepped once. ​ And again. ​ The clicking in its throat replaced by a screech which froze me like a rabbit before a lion. Any sense of flight or flight escaped me as I only stood frozen in terror. The last thought flashing in my mind was a memory from a children's show and a single word explaining how I was to die. ​ Velociraptor.

fear4life.com (Part 2)

xy2vrm

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy2vrm/fear4lifecom_part_2/

[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xx4z4i/fear4lifecom/) I finally got out of bed and went to my office. There was no green light on the camera, and the computer was off. I switched it on and then went and made myself a coffee. Luckily there were no deadlines for me this week, so I didn't have anything important going on. I still wanted to spend some time looking for other writing opportunities, but first, I had to run my virus scan. This was probably the only time I hoped there would be a virus or malware on my computer. When the scan ended, and there were no problems, I was disappointed. The day was mostly uneventful. I fell asleep at my desk, though, and when I woke up, my computer was on that website again. It was on the page with the [blank black screen](https://www.fear4life.com/home/1) and a skull in the background that I hadn't noticed before. It was similar to the face I saw on my screen and at my door the night before. I clicked the 'x' in the corner to close the window and got up from my desk. Fresh air sounded good, so I went outside for a walk. These warm sunny days in the fall were great. I knew it would be only a matter of time before I would be shoveling the snow off my driveway. I walked through my street and into the wooded trail that connected some of the roads in the neighborhood. The leaves were starting to change color, and it was a nice peaceful walk. Until I heard the crunching of a stick off the trail. It was probably just a groundhog or a different small animal, but I was still a little on edge from what happened last night, so it made me a little nervous. I kept going around a curve and further away from the houses. I heard the crunching sound again, and it sounded like someone was walking through the bushes not too far from me. I couldn't see who was out there, but I could tell they were getting closer. I didn't see whatever was out there, but I took a picture of where the noises were coming from so I could see if anything was there when I got back home. I picked up the pace and started running through the trail. The noises also got louder and stayed close behind me. Finally, I made it out of the pathway and onto the next street. It felt safer being in the open in front of all the houses. Someone was likely to be home if I had to scream for help. When I had walked far enough away from the trail entrance, I turned around to look back into the woods. I didn't see anything but felt like I was being watched. When I returned home, the door to my house was open part way. I know that I had closed it and locked it before leaving on my walk. I didn't know whether to call and wait for the police or go in and check it out myself. I leaned in through the door. "Hello?" I yelled. There was no response, and I didn't hear any noises inside, but I knew I'd feel better if the police checked it out first. After calling the non-emergency number, I went to the bottom of my driveway to wait. I watched the house until the police car arrived. Two officers got out, and I told them the front door was open, but I knew it was closed and locked when I left. They went inside, and after a few minutes, they returned. There was no one inside, and they didn't see any signs of forced entry. They told me to look around, and I could have a police report filled out if anything was missing. They said it was probably a faulty latch or wasn't closed right. As they were pulling out of the driveway, one of the officers said, "You might want to clean up your office. It looked pretty messy in there." I thanked them and went inside. My front door only has a deadbolt, so it has to be unlocked inside or with a key. The only ones with a spare key are my parents, and they would've let me know if they were stopping over. My chair was knocked over, and the papers that had been on my desk were on the floor. The monitor was also covered in fingerprints and smudges. It isn't a touch screen, and I don't remember it being that dirty. Nothing else in the house was out of order, so I went to work cleaning up my office. I picked up my chair and put the papers on the desk. There were crumbles of dirt on the desk and keyboard. My hands felt dusty and had black smudges after handling the documents. I also noticed a small trail of dirt from my office getting smaller as it went to the front door. I guess I had wanted things to be more interesting, but this stuff isn't what I had in mind. After finding my screen cleaning spray, I scrubbed off the monitor. I got some of the smudges off, but no matter how hard I cleaned it, some of the fingerprints just wouldn't come off. I felt uneasy the rest of the night, especially with what happened in my office. Where did all the dirt come from, and why was so much in the office instead of by the front door? And how did someone get into my house? I double and then triple-checked all the locks on the doors and windows before going to bed. Even though I was anxious, my exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep fast. I awoke to the buzzing of my phone as it vibrated around on the nightstand. It stopped for a few moments. I was almost back to sleep when it started buzzing again. My phone was pretty much always on vibrate, and I wanted it on in case my parents had an emergency at night. I picked it up, worried that it might be them. The screen showed that it was an incoming video call from a number I didn't recognize. I swiped down to decline it and saw that it was just after midnight before I set it back down. It began vibrating again almost as soon as I set it down. After swiping down a second time, I turned off my phone and set it on the nightstand. I almost fell asleep when I heard a loud thud coming from outside my room. Now I was wide awake and grabbing the bat before I stood up. I made my way cautiously to my bedroom door and looked out into the hallway. I had thought I closed that door before going to bed, but in my sleep-deprived state, I wasn't sure. I saw the dim glow coming out of my office, which meant the monitor had to be on. Taking some deep breaths and gripping tightly onto the baseball bat, I slowly walked toward the light. I stopped right before the open door and leaned against the wall. It was quiet, but I could hear the faint sound of someone talking. It was like when you're in a loud restaurant, and you hear all the voices at once, but you can't make out any words. This was in a whisper, though. While I was building the courage to enter the room, the voice stopped, and the dim light went off. The light switch was just inside the doorway. I reached my arm around and flipped on the switch. I was positive that something was going to grab onto my arm, but luckily nothing happened. It took me a minute to get accustomed to the light before I could step into the room. The chair had been knocked over again, and the keyboard was on the floor. Everything else looked normal. I searched around the rest of my house but didn't find anything. While I was walking back to my room, I heard my phone buzzing again. There's no question that the power was off when I left the room. The buzzing stopped before I made it back. When I walked through the doorway, I could see that the screen was on, and there was someone's face on there. I backed out of the room and closed the door. I went into the other bedroom next to the office and closed the door. This room was barely used and only had a mattress on the floor covered with sheets and a blanket. I sat down on it and listened for other noises in the house. Then it seemed like all of a sudden, the sun was shining in through the window. I slowly got out of bed and walked over to my bedroom. I picked up my phone from the nightstand and saw that I had a voicemail from the number I didn't recognize last night. I've included it [here](https://soundcloud.com/tropical_rabbit/voicemail) if you'd like to hear it. I also remembered the picture I took yesterday when I was on the trail. There wasn't anyone in the picture, but when I looked closer, I thought I could see [something in the picture](https://i.redd.it/k0u3415jnes91.jpg). I'm hoping it is just my imagination, and someone will tell me there is nothing weird on there. I'm not quite sure what to do next. [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y29zjx/fear4lifecom_part_3/)

How to Survive College - the creature's lair

xxoubl

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxoubl/how_to_survive_college_the_creatures_lair/

There were some interesting ideas in the comments on [the last post.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xp575a/how_to_survive_college_there_are_rules/) It’s probably not going to be an idea you expect, either. See, there were a couple people that thought that the laundry lady had been permanently and probably violently removed from campus (and life). However, I’m not sure the timeline is right for that. She visited my dorm room *after* ‘they’ found out about… whatever she’d done to upset them. Her retaliation against me was for their retaliation against her. Whatever punishment they meted out, it was already done. Which meant she was still on campus. And it meant that she still had a grudge. (if you’re new, [start here](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/rnauck/how_to_survive_the_holidays/), and if you’re totally lost, [this might help](https://www.reddit.com/r/goatvalleycampgrounds/comments/s75n1c/how_to_survive_college_index/)) Granted, that grudge was primarily against me, but I felt pretty certain that she wasn’t able to act on it directly. I mean, she’d already demonstrated the limits of that by showing up in my dorm room and threatening to harm my friends instead of me. I wanted to find her. Maybe she’d subscribe to the whole ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’ thing. Or at least be willing to have a conversation about wtf is going on around here. And if nothing else, maybe I could use her as bait for the eyeball. I started leaving my laundry in the dryer for longer than I should. With it being the summer semester, there was little danger of it being dumped on the floor. It took a lot of attempts. I think I wasted a whole week - and a lot of money - washing my shirts one at a time. On the upside, I was all over my schoolwork. Had to do something with all that anxious energy, after all, and homework at least distracted me from the looming existential question of what the heck I’m going to major in. (how am I supposed to know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life!?) Then, finally, I went down to the laundry room and there she was. My lone shirt was folded neatly, resting on her upturned palms. “I… thought you said you couldn’t test me a second time,” I said tentatively, stepping into the laundry room. “I’m folding your clothing because I cannot *stand* to wait idly by and pretend I don’t see it getting wrinkled as it sits there unattended in the dryer.” She shoved my lone shirt into my arms and I struggled to take it without getting any closer to her than I absolutely had to you. “This is a freebie,” she said icily. “*You’re welcome*.” She turned back to another dryer that had finished within seconds of me walking in. She pulled out a handful of sports bras and got to work folding them. I watched for a few seconds because I’ll be real, I didn’t know you could fold sports bras. I just shove mine into the drawer in a wad. Also I still find it creepy that she insists on folding literally everything, including the underwear. “Have you seen… a new *thing* on campus?” I ventured. “Nope,” she replied promptly. “Everything is fine.” “I think you know it’s not.” She ignored me and kept folding. She was finished with the rather impressive pile of bras and moved on to jeans. “Oh come on,” I said. “There’s a giant eyeball running around killing your kind!”Her lips thinned but she remained silent. Fine. If that was how it was going to be… I shook my shirt out, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it on the floor. She froze. Her hands remained poised over the jeans in mid-fold. Her gaze slid over to stare first at the shirt on the floor and then her eyes raised to meet mine. I flinched at the hatred I saw in them. This wasn’t even because I’d gotten her into trouble. It was the hatred of a creature that had just been deeply, gravely insulted. “Sorry,” I stammered, my nerve breaking instantly. “I’m so sorry. But I wanted your attention.” “You have it now,” she replied quietly. I told her that I knew she was in trouble. I’d heard the flickering man talking about it. “Self-important little sycophant,” she sniffed. “Always meddling where he doesn’t belong.” “Sorry,” I stammered. “This is just… really weird to hear.” “What, did you think we didn’t have hierarchies?” “No it’s just - I mean, it’s inhuman gossip. That’s weird, right?” I took a deep breath. Get to the point. “I think - I have this thing - I have a weapon. For the eyeball.” “Why should I care?” “Because. I need help. And if you want to get rid of the eyeball - if it’s the reason you can’t do whatever you want around here - then you should help me.” “Well that’s bold.” She turned away from me and resumed folding the jeans. After a half minute of deeply uncomfortable silence I walked over and tried to refold my shirt. It wasn’t nearly as neat as she’d done and she gave it a critical glance, but didn’t try to fix it. I could only hope her lack of an answer wasn’t because I’d insulted her too gravely to ever recover from. “I can take you to its lair,” she said in an undertone. “After that, it’s up to you.” “Okay,” I replied in a whisper. “Thanks. When…?” “Now. Go get your weapon. We’ll go as soon as I’m done folding this.” “Now?” I squeaked. “I can hear your heart beating. I smell your fear. If I’m going to risk my existence - and believe me, this time they won’t let me live if they find out about this betrayal - then I don’t want to give you the chance to find a reason to back out.” “I won’t!” “But you want to. Go. Get. The weapon.” She wasn’t wrong. I wanted more time. Maybe I wouldn’t chicken out like she thought, but honestly… I can’t be certain. Sometimes it’s better if you don’t think about it first. If you just jump and sort it out once you’re already falling. Still, I was panicking when I unlocked the door to my dorm. It took me three tries because my hands were shaking. Should I tell her I didn’t know how to use the weapon yet? That we needed to wait until I figured it out? No, she’d likely retract her bargain then. I had a narrow window of opportunity here and if I faltered here, she wouldn’t be willing to back such a risky bet. Besides, there was a downside to frantically studying to calm my nerves while waiting on the laundry lady. I was not in danger of failing any of my classes. I had no way to summon the devil. Not that I think it would have done any good. If he wanted me to know how to use the pencil, he surely would have told me already. It was up to me to figure it out. And believe me, I’ve tried every suggestion you all have given me. Nothing has worked, at least, not in a way I’ve seen results. I’ve written and written with it and nothing has changed, save that the pencil keeps getting shorter. I’m saving the shavings in the bag with it, just in case I need them. I kind of wonder if I need to use the pencil up, but I’m honestly terrified to try that. I don’t think the devil will give me a replacement if I waste it. I’ll have just failed my part of the bargain and as I write this I realize we never discussed what happens if I fail. I don’t think he’d drag me to hell, that seems like a consequence he would have brought up to begin with. He’d probably just make sure I flunk out instead and honestly that kind of feels worse than going to hell right now. I stumbled back down the hallway to the laundry room. On the way I passed a student who looked like he might be on the way there, so I frantically accosted him and told him that if someone had folded his laundry for him, to put it away as nicely as he found it. I’m sure I made an impression on him, as freaked out as I was. The laundry lady was waiting for me at the end of the hall. She turned the corner and I jogged down the hallway to catch up. We took the stairs down to the basement. I realized as soon as we exited the stairwell where we were headed. The steam tunnels. The beast’s lair was accessible through the tunnels that didn’t always spit you out at where you thought they should. “How far do we need to go?” I asked as I followed her down into the tunnels, the pipes hissing quietly around us. “As far as we need to.” I’m not sure why I expected anything less cryptic. She led me on through the tunnels. It felt like she was picking which way to turn on a whim and she probably was, knowing how these things work. I was thoroughly lost in a very short amount of time. We passed by a few doors and each time she walked right by without hesitation. I had a bad feeling I knew where she was leading me to but I didn’t want to confirm my fears by asking. She was right about how scared I was, after all. I wanted to turn back. I regretted my bargain with the devil. I was finally mustering up the nerve to suggest an excuse to not go through with it when she grabbed hold of my wrist. She broke into a run, dragging me along behind her. I opened my mouth to ask what was happening, but then I heard the hissing in the pipes grow louder. I knew *exactly* what was coming. Steam was wafting at our feet. It was coming. The ghost in the tunnels was coming. “Through here,” she hissed. There was a door at the end of the corridor. She wrenched it open and shoved me through without hesitation. Then she stepped through and carefully pushed it closed, stopping just short of letting the latch fall into place. She held the doorknob so that it wouldn’t release. We were hiding from the steam ghost. I sank into a crouch, my shaking legs unable to hold me up any longer. We were in a dark place but from the cement beneath us, I assumed it was the basement of a building somewhere on campus. “Cover your mouth,” she said, so softly I barely heard her. “Try to breathe as little as possible. You don’t want them to hear you before the steam dissipates.” Them. Not it. *Them*. Stupidly, I looked out into the darkness around us. *Them*. This wasn’t the basement of a building. And we weren’t alone. I silently clasped my hands over my mouth and nose. I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear scuttling out there. It was coming closer, pausing here and there. Like rats, I thought. Rats that were growing steadily bolder. I took a slow, shallow breath and held it again. The noises were all around us. The soft scrape of something living on concrete. The sound of their movement even came from above us and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Cold sweat dripped down my back. Something touched my knee. It was a light touch, like the brush of a feather, but it was there. It had touched me. “Finally!” the laundry lady hissed. And her bony hand clasped my wrist once more and she yanked me through the door and back into the steam tunnels. Behind us came a cacophony of screeching, I saw in the light from the fluorescent lights an undulating mass of bodies, and then she slammed the door shut behind us. The steam was gone. The lady kicked at one of the pipes and it echoed hollowly through the corridor. “I think we’re safe now,” she said grimly. I wasn’t quite listening. I was still staring at the door behind us, as if any moment it would burst open and all those eyes would roll over us in a hungry wave. “What *were* those?” I gasped frantically. “Oh, those?” She glanced back at the door. “I have no idea. The steam tunnels connect to all kinds of places.” “So you just threw us into one without knowing anything about it?” There was hysteria in my voice. She sighed and in a tone that conveyed exactly how tedious it was to speak to me, she explained that she hid us in because she’d rather not encounter the steam ghost. She was tired of dealing with it and that was worth the risk of the unknown on the other side of a door. “Is it also a self-important sycophant?” I asked. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I talk when I’m nervous I guess and apparently I try to use humor to diffuse the situation. Except that doesn’t work too well when you’re stuck with an inhuman that’s the manifestation of every joyless husk of a human being you’ve ever known. I feel I’ve gotten cheated. My inhuman helper sucks. Beau was at least cool, in that bad boy sort of way. And when his appearance solidified, he was kind of hot. I’ve got the Mother of All Karens here, She Who Speaks to the Manager. Not quite the grouchy grandmother next door that thinks you play your music too loud, but certainly up there in the “shares Minions memes on Facebook” range. “No, it just wants to hurt things,” she replied. “We should keep moving.” We didn’t have much further to go after that. We passed one more door and then she swung the next one open. As I feared, it opened to stairs descending into fog. The lady stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. “I’m not going down there,” I finally said. “There’s nothing I can do about that - that hole in the world. I’ve got a pencil, okay? That’s it.” “You have a *weapon*,” she corrected. “I can feel it. Given to you by an ancient thing. I hate just being near it.” Which struck me as odd, if this campus was ruled by an ancient thing. Was I wrong about that? It was so hard to tell. It was like they were picking and choosing which rules to follow. I said as much, hoping to get some more information, but more importantly - hoping to delay the moment I had to step through that doorway. “You’re right about that,” she said. “We don’t quite follow those rules here. Makes that weapon you’re clutching all the more potent. *We don’t want it* *here*.” Her lips drew back from her teeth as she hissed her words. I couldn’t help but remember how she said she’d skin my friends and I shuddered and hastily looked away. Looked at the open doorway and the stairs leading down into the clouds. That was a mistake. “Let’s go,” she said grimly. “Don’t forget this is a one-time offer of help I’m giving you.” “And what am I supposed to do down there?” I protested. “Okay, yes, fine, I have a weapon. But that stairway ends way far up.” “That’s why you still need my help. I’ll get you safely into the creature’s lair. I give my word.” “You said you don’t follow the traditional rules,” I said accusingly. She gave me a lopsided smile. No, she corrected me. They only follow *some* of the rules. They hadn’t yet broken free of all of them. “It’ll be up to you to figure out which ones I still follow,” she said, taking one step down into the open sky. She held out a hand to me. A hand left dry and cracked from years of handling hot fabric. In that moment it didn’t matter how dangerous she was. I was scared enough to accept the comfort it offered. The promise of safety. I needed any scrap of hope to step foot through that door, even if that hope turned out to be a mirage in the end. Otherwise, I would have remained frozen there at the entrance, unable to bring myself to take a single step forward and see this through. All of my determination was unraveled at the thought of that vast emptiness, of that ocean of water and that endless hole through the world. The laundry lady was the only thing carrying me forward. We’ve established that I talk like an idiot when I’m scared, right? “I’m curious - why don’t you just go haunt a laundromat or something?” I babbled as we descended. “Are you trying to talk to take your mind off how scared you are?” “Yes.” “Fine. I’ll play along. If nothing else, maybe it’ll make you smell less… *appetizing*.” Her grip tightened on mine. Her bony fingers hurt. “There’s a lot of homesick students in the dorms and sometimes they appreciate what I do,” she said. “Vengeance is nice… but gratitude is nicer. I wouldn’t get that if I haunted a laundromat.” She had a point. But right as I was about to feel good about myself as a college student, she went and ruined it. “All I’ve ever done is help you children out. It’s not my fault that you’re wretched, ungrateful brats that were poorly raised by your parents.” Then, like an idiot, I instinctively replied with, “okay boomer.” I was nervous! It just slipped out! She immediately stopped talking, her lips pressed together into a thin line. It didn’t matter. We were at the bottom of the stairs. The clouds hung just above our heads and all around us, the ocean lay flat and still like a mirror. The hole was directly beneath us, a black stain, a perfect circle with the silver ring where the water cascaded over the edge. My mouth went dry staring down at it. Somehow, it was worse seeing it beneath us. So much worse. I clutched the laundry lady’s hand as tightly as I could. “You said you’d get me safely into the lair,” I croaked. “I did.” “Is the lair like… in there?” “No, I brought you here because I like the view,” she said scornfully. I swallowed hard. What now? What was I supposed to do now? What *could* I do now? I hadn’t figured anything out and I hadn’t been able to stop Patricia or anyone else. I felt so small and helpless, staring down into that abyss. But I had a weapon from an ancient thing. “Do I like… throw the pencil in?” I ventured. “Well, you got part of that right. You’re throwing *something* in.” [And she shoved me off the edge](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyjhib/how_to_survive_college_the_old_and_the_new/).[\[x\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/goatvalleycampgrounds/) [Read the first draft of the rules.](https://www.reddit.com/r/goatvalleycampgrounds/comments/t34mbv/how_to_survive_college/) [Visit the college's website.](https://alderrayne.com/)

Someone made a replica of my childhood home

xy7m6h

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy7m6h/someone_made_a_replica_of_my_childhood_home/

I used to be a beacon for ideas. When I was a child, my mind tended to wander quite a bit. So much so, my teachers would beg my parents to see a specialist for a potential ADHD diagnosis, but I’m sort of glad they didn’t. I’d draw my own comics, paint illustrious new worlds, and would make blueprints for inventions I’d want to create. I always felt my wandering mind was my super power. One time when I was ten, I looked out my bedroom window during a pretty severe storm and saw a stranger staring at our house. They were covered in black and just stood there staring through our living room window as they were getting pelted by rain drops. Maybe they were just looking for cover from the storm, but that moment left me with a pretty restless that night. The one positive was that it made for some great inspiration for the drawing I had made about it. I ran downstairs in our warm midwestern home, while my dad sat in his favorite chair with his signature glass of bourbon right by the fire. He looked at my drawing, “This one is your best one yet, champ! Very very spooky!” My smile faded. I now stood in front of my office window staring at what seemed like a lifeless city. To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I felt really good about anything I had created. My life goal was to create something impactful, something people would remember. I wanted to be an innovator - but here I was stuck writing articles and interviewing others about their achievements and life accomplishments. At some point during my life, my mom became religious. Her way of cheering me up was to try to turn me onto God and that ‘seeking out a higher power may help me’. “I know you’ve been through a lot honey, but you’ve got a good job, and they appreciate you. You’ll figure something out, just be patient. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” My mind was once my super power, but now it was my worst enemy. “Hey RJ! Someone dropped this off for you while you were on lunch.” Our admin assistant Amy decided to barge in on my pity party. “Who dropped it off?” I asked as I curiously grabbed what seemed to be an invitation. “It was some lady going on about some art exhibit this Friday.” I stared at the invitation, Midtown Art Exhibit presents, ’A Burning Memory’. I got to the exhibit a little late that Friday night to try to avoid the crowds. I was instantly greeted at the door by a young petite woman, who seemed rather excited to see me. “Mr. Dyer! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Noemi Cartwright - I’m the art gallery director.” She shot out her hand and shook mine with excitement. “It’s been so crazy seeing everyone come in tonight, you should’ve seen the traction earlier! They love how immersive the exhibit is! I was actually just about to close up, but I’m so glad you were able to make it.” I cut in, “Who’s the artist behind this exhibit?” Noemi paused and stared at me in confused. “What do y-“ Just before she could answer, her phone went off - startling us both. “I am so sorry, Mr. Dyer, I’ve got to take this. But go have a look!” Noemi shuffled away and took her call outside. I walked through the doors and took in the exhibit’s immense scale. Everything looked so loud and in your face, as if someones head exploded and this was the end result - it gave me an instant feeling of dread. Looking through some of the initial paintings I could see the themes of death, hopelessness and despair. A pitch black specter seemed to be a reoccurring figure in each painting. The first few seemed to almost hide it. An image of an upside down car with an empty bicycle sat beside it while the ghostly figure was positioned from afar. A painting of a lonely boy with a horde of clown like smiling faces surrounding him. Next was a portrait of a family in what would otherwise look like a warm fall day, in a comforting midwestern neighborhood. Yet, this portrait would be tainted by this specter, who was now nearly engulfing the image. It wasn’t hiding anymore…it was making it’s presence known as the details were becoming more vivid. Painting after painting was now just being overtaken by the specter. I felt my anxiety rising as I noticed my sweaty hands had my notebook and pen in a vice grip. I moved down a narrow hallway. The next set of paintings were all the same, painting of coffins surrounded by fiery blood red and orange splatters with small text, ‘It follows me, everywhere I go.’ The end of the hallway led to another large opening. I nearly collapsed as I saw what was in front of me… It was my childhood home. The exact same scale and everything. The once warm home - now looked old, broken and warped. I ran back to the front of the exhibit to look for Noemi, but found nothing. Was she some kind of stalker? My instincts told me to run, but curiosity got the best of me. I went back. As I stood in front of my old home, I took a deep breath and turned the handle. Stepping through I noticed the entryway, the mahogany staircase, every little detail was there. It even had the rich scent of pumpkin spice overtaking my aura. Slowly inching my way towards the kitchen, I looked on in amazement. There was my mom’s big spoon and fork decor hanging over our sink. My gaze shifted to our living room which was dimly lit by one lamp. It was a much more depressing sight aside everything else. And then my heart nearly beat out of my chest when I saw it….someone was sitting in my dad’s favorite chair. It was dark, but I could see the outline of a dark figure. Nearly a foot away, I held my breath and turned the chair. I was semi-relieved to find a mannequin sitting in his place. It was wearing a short brown wig and had X’s where the mannequins eyes would be. The dimly lit lamp made it so I could now read the splattered red text on the wall behind the chair. It simply read, ‘it wasn’t there for you.’ Immediately a loud thumping sound emerged from above. It sounded as if someone ran up the stairs and ran across the room above me. “Hello?…Noemi!?” My patience was running thin, “This isn’t funny! What the hell is going on here?” Someone was exploiting my life and passing it off as ‘art’. It wasn’t even remotely true, and yet, people found this entertaining? I felt an adrenaline spike and stomped my way up the stairs. I wanted to confront whoever the hell was messing with me. A framed portrait was at the top of the stairs with a newspaper clipping of the obituaries and big red writing painted over it which read, ‘you never woke up, did you?’ The loud thumping sound rushed past me and nearly gave me a heart attack. I slammed the wall in frustration realizing it must have been built in speakers. I kept pace and continued my trek until I reached my parents room on the right side of the hallway. I could hear a sobbing sound from within. My adrenaline spike must have faded because I was thoroughly terrified again. My hand shook as I pushed the door to reveal my parents bed with someone laying in it. Against my better judgement, I again went to confront this figure. Peeling back the covers - I was relieved to find it was just another mannequin with a much longer wig. Tears were painted under it’s eyes. The last room I needed to see was my own, and sure enough - it was wide open. For some reason when I stepped through my door I felt everything was okay. That sense of dread I once had seemed to leave as my room felt like the only comfortable place in the entire house. It was well lit, it had everything in order with my desk in the corner near my window and all of my old favorite movie posters set up around the room. I closed the door to escape the sobbing and thumping sounds and sat at my desk to see a journal and some of my old comic books. My room was always a place I could go to escape. I stared at a drawing of a family left on the desk and realized that tears were beginning to form in my eyes. My brief moment of peace was interrupted by a thunderous bang. Another sound effect. But it didn’t sound like thunder, it sounded like a gunshot. I stood up quickly and noticed something outside the window and froze in horror…someone, or something, was looking up at me from below. It was draped in black and almost seemed to be hovering a foot off the ground. I could see it’s cold grey and dead looking feet, as it began to rise higher. It had no other distinguishable features other than it’s black cowl and made a low groaning sound. My body was full-on shaking now as it floated closer towards my window. I couldn’t move. This being nearly met me at eye level as it’s features began to form into a familiar face. I realized I was standing on my window sill as I heard doors slamming from below while the thumping sound grew louder and then followed a piercing scream. It felt as though I had blacked out. I came to and realized I was apprehensively being walked out of the exhibit by Noemi. “No one else was in the exhibit with us, Mr. Dyer…are you sure you’re okay? I feel like I should call someone, you almost fell out of a two story house.” The uneasy feeling left my body as we left the building, “No no, I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day. Seriously, I’ll be okay.” The next morning I rolled over to see Noemi had left a voicemail checking up on me. A part of me wished what I saw wasn’t real. I thought that perhaps I should just ignore it and carry on as if it didn’t happen. But the other part of me knew exactly what it was. The paintings, the art and even the house - was all just a distraction . A culmination of pain, a burning memory. I understood now that the pain carried throughout that house did not have to continue channeling through me. I could escape the darkness within those walls and accept that my father’s death was not my fault and that I would not succumb to his same fate. Deuteronomy 24:16

Where did the companion of darkness go?

xyagcp

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xyagcp/where_did_the_companion_of_darkness_go/

I work as a sales manager in one of the largest furniture companies in Egypt. My work hours are from 11 am to 11 pm, and the way back home takes more than an hour and a half, so when I get home the clock is over midnight. One night, I was returning home, and it was about 1:00 am. The street where my apartment was located was quiet and empty. Unfortunately my arrival coincided with the power outage, where everything drowned in the dark, and the stray dogs' bark rose, as if announcing its control of the street at that cursed hour. The atmosphere was scary, but I kept my nerves until I reached the door of the building where I live, where my apartment is located on the 12th floor. For a moment I stood up and thought about what to do. Without electricity, the elevator could not be used. And the idea of climbing 12 floors in this darkness seemed troublesome, as well as staying at the door of the building in the hope of a return of electricity, especially with these dogs barking at the door .. I was puzzled what to do, and stood there motionless. I don’t know why I was so pessimistic that night, I looked at the gloomy stair with suspicion and felt that trying to climb the stair to the 12th floor wouldn’t end well, imagining that there is a jinn or demon lying in wait for me somewhere in the darkness to suddenly get out and freeze blood in my veins Please don’t make fun of my fears, and don’t try advise me to be brave.. You are definitely stretching now in your warm bed while I stand here on the thresholds of the kingdom of the devilish darkness! For your information, I have iron nerves and a strong body, but the devilish imagination blew all that at that moment. Suddenly a man came from afar. He was walking strangely and uncommonly in the dark. He was medium in height and body, wearing a black coat that gave him a mysterious appearance. .. He approached me with all confidence and said, "Are you up?"  .. I found myself reacting like a hypnotist and replied: "Yes". He smiled a malicious smile, or that's what I imagined!, then he said: "So let's climb the stairs together to reassure and amuses each other, and by the way, I am your neighbor on the 14th floor". I swear to God that his appearance wasn’t at all comfortable, and for a moment I heard him laughing like a hyena! We start climbing, I hoped he wouldn’t speak, but suddenly he said: "The apartments that have not yet lived and in the finishing stage are the ones that cause terror and imagination". I said to myself that this talk is not quite appropriate for this situation, but I kept going up with him and I am ready to confront and fight at any moment with this person who I don’t know what he is or from where he came. On the sixth floor, the current suddenly returned, and to my astonishment I found myself alone!, I looked around me and didn’t find him. He disappeared as if it had evaporated in the air! By God, this is what happened to me and this is my story. By the way, I forgot to tell you that the whole building is 13 stories and never has a 14th floor, which the companion of darkness told me he is ascend to!

Im never going to a local dance party ever.

xye32k

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xye32k/im_never_going_to_a_local_dance_party_ever/

Its been a few hours and i just started to shake from fear less and less. What was supposed to be a fun time with my buddies became a nightmare inducing experience over a few seconds and one very, very bad decision.... I am from a small town that is located in a very small country. It's one of 3 Baltic states, so our mythology and culture, especially old traditions, might be shocking to some. However, what i have seen today is hopefully not some tradition i wasn't aware of. It was a typical Friday, the sunshine was warm despite the fact that it was first few days of October, and the wind was chilling yet soothing, so me and my friends decided to meet up after school, as most of them haven't seen me for a couple weeks due to me visiting my gf from a different city. The first 3 of us met at the local park near a small lake. After walking around for about an hour we decided that we should head to the town center, as it was dark, so walking around there was a whole different vibe. Plus, we had to pickup a friend that took a bus from a nearby city. There was a bridge that we had to walk through, as it connected the edge of town to the park, and near it was an old mill made of bricks that is about a few hundred years old, and it looks as old and beaten down as it sounds. It wasn't abandoned or haunted (at least thats what i thought) though, there was electricity, the inside was authentic yet renovated to keep warmth, because recently cultural dance parties were started to be hosted there. I have been in few of them, with the same friends. And as we crossed the bridge on our way to our town, thats what we thought. Can you blame us? Lights were up, people were walking around, tons of cars parked near the mill footsteps of people dancing so loud, you could hear it outside. We thought it would be cool to check it out later. I should probably note that there were a few people outside smoking, looking as if they are anxious about something, however i quickly brushed it off, as we had to meet our other two friends. As we finally got our last mate (lets call him Will for privacy), we decided that it would be nice to hang out there. Thats where our biggest mistake happened. As we made our way towards the mill, one of us noticed something was off. There were less cars parked, no people were staying outside, and there was this weird feeling of uneasiness, as if it was a trap of some sorts. As we got closer, one of us asked: "Wait, maybe this place is rented for the night"? I have lived in this town all my life, yet i have never heard about renting it. Even if it was true, who would want to celebrate their birthday or wedding in an almost-ancient mill? Either way, our curiosity got the better of us. We silently opened the front door and sneaked in to not alert others if we were uninvited here. After opening the door the feeling of uneasiness has spiked indefinitely, as we could hear singing from above. A chorus of middle-aged women were singing some words we couldn't make out, yet wrapped in curiosity we decided we should check further. Ground floor - nothing. There wasn't much to do there, so we didnt make much of it. As we got to the first floor, shit started to hit the fan. The previously-mentioned women chorus was accompanied by a low, ambient sound. We saw a huge table full of sweets, snacks, sandwiches, tea - you name it. For some reason it only sparked that feeling of us not meant to come here. The previously-mentioned Will decided it was a good idea to walk a few steps up the stairs and peek at what they were doing. His words didnt seem to distressed, rather they were almost comical. "Hey guys", -he whispered, -"i think that they are doing some sort of ritual". As probably the most curious of our bunch i thought it was a good idea to peek there as well. At first it didn't seem to be too alarming, just a couple (around 20 of them) of singing people stood there in a circle and sung songs. It was then that i started noticing the weird stench that was coming out of the floor. At the same time, one of them moved their leg for some reason, and thats when i saw it - they weren't standing around a weird symbol, and the stench was either the blood they used to paint it on the floor, or the dead body of a man who was smoking earlier. His skin was pale and eyes black, half of his robes and hands were bloody. We whispered to each other for a minute how weird this is, yet after that we decided it would be a good idea to just go outside and chill somewhere else. However, thats when i realised our mistake. The whole building started to shake, and the dead body started barely moving. Mere seconds later, it opened up, and a pale, White dressed lady started coming out of his stomach. Completely terrified we started running. Even as silent as we were while going down, for some reason i am sure they heard us. We might have broken that damn old door as we were escaping, but it didn't matter at the time. As we walked out, we saw Simon - a local music teacher who made these parties possible, sitting by one of the cars. He looked at us with a sad look in his eyes and asked: "You saw what happened there, didnt you?" Without us saying a thing, he mouthed: "Run. They know about you...." That was enough for us to not ask anymore questions. We ran, as quickly as we could, all in a small squad. After a couple of minutes running, we realised no one was chasing us, not anymore at least. We started to at least try to process what we saw there, but there was literally no possible explanation to a man being gutted and a woman, no, SOMETHING that looks like a woman, climbing out of him, all the while a group of cultists (or whoever they where) just standing there, watching. I live a bit further from town, so i asked my mom to come and pick us up, then drop off everyone in front of their home door. I feel kind of guilty for all this. For talking my friends into going there, for telling all that to my mom, knowing perfectly well that she probably cant sleep now either. I cant even comprehend what would have happened to either one of us if we were caught. Either way, unless i see a poster or something, im never coming back there...

I've met the devil

xya7xh

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xya7xh/ive_met_the_devil/

I'm 34, but when I was 18 or 19 I had an interesting experience. I've suffered from sleep paralysis since I was 15. Usually, just laying there, paralysed and panicking, while a demon stands there at the foot of my bed, but one day I found out how to leave my body. I was asleep in my boyfriends bed, him beside me. I had sneaked into his house as his parents wouldn't let us be in the same room, for obvious reasons. Got into his room and he pushed a chair against his door handle so the parents couldn't get in. He wasn't allowed a key. We were tired and just slept. Had been in a club that night, nothing crazy, quite tame. Think we got a taxi back or train, you know I don't remember. Then at some point during the night I awoke, but not in the conventional way. I awoke to see a demon trail out of my boyfriend. The demon then stood at the foot of the bed laughing. I felt comforted knowing that my boyfriend was beside me, even though he was unconscious. So I guess something changed. I was no able to leave my body. There was a rope above my head and I pulled and pulled, it felt like I was an elastic band stuck to the bed. It was so hard to leave my body, but I did. The demon re-entered my boyfriends boy. I got up, turned around kneeling on the bed looking at me 'sleeping' and my boyfriend beside me. I got on top of him and using my two fists clenched together I pounded them on his chest repeatedly demanding 'get out of my boyfriend you demon'. While he didn't move. Next morning we wake up. Me exhausted cos I had another weird sleep paralysis experience, but different. This is when things became very uneasy... He tried to sit up in bed...but...his chest was so sore he couldn't move. His Dad is a doctor and he had to call him. I hid under the bed buck naked, no lie. He got the meds and rested. I'm not sure how his Dad even got into the room, I must have moved the chair blocking the door. I never told him about my sleep paralysis experience. As far as he knew I slept well. Months went by and we decided to move in together, well not we, he moved out (to his parents dismay), and asked me to move in with him. We were only together 6 months. I agreed, to my mother's dismay, she said I'll be back home eventually (smart mother). And maybe she was right. Very soon after moving in with him, I noticed changes, but they happened so gradually over the time we were living together. He lost touch with his friends, my friends were now his also, he'd tried to control me, convince me that I'm the problem, that my friends don't "laugh with you, but at you". He became evil...my friends told me to leave him. I can't describe what happened in our 'relationship', because it's too much for Reddit. Even at 34 I remember everything, every detail vividly. One night, I woke up with him on top of me, trying to strangle me. His black North Face t-shirt he wore to bed, my finger ripped it off him like it was paper. Believe me I'm not including 90% of the stories, but you don't need to know them. Pushed him off me, grabbed my phone, he smashed it, so I grabbed his. Called the police and they picked me up. So anyways...to this day, I connect me banging his chest, trying to save him, with him trying to kill me. Waw he possessed? There were days I cried in our bed, out loud saying, "I'm with the devil", "I know what the devil looks like". There was nothing behind his eyes, no soul.

Don't use the toilets here. Ever.

xxz3qn

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxz3qn/dont_use_the_toilets_here_ever/

Look, I’m down on my knees begging you, don’t go away! Don’t laugh; don’t close the post. This is not a joke; this is real. It’s all my fault! I started it! Well Kevin first, the kid who picked on him the most. And me and Lloyd. We are the cool kids, the trio no one wanted to mess with. Especially old Mr B. The school janitor. The one who probably hates us the most for making his life so miserable. And he’s right. It is our fault. I’m reliving the events of the morning right now. What led up to this. I can’t help it. It’s flashing across my mind like a movie in a cinema. “Hey, Hairy!” Kevin sauntered towards him, making sure to step on his beard as he inched closer with his brand-new $500 Nike sneakers. Mr B.’s eyes grew wide, and he tried to flee, but I blocked him from the other side, rubbing my hands at the show that was about to start. “What have you been up to?” He kicked Mr B. in the knees, and he collapsed with a howl of pain. Kevin looked at his stained uniform and wrinkled his nose. “Rolling around in mud again? Bet you can’t even afford soap, isn’t it Hairy? No wonder it is so dirty!” “Let me help you!” Kevin picked up the bucket of water and dumped it onto his head. The dirty waterfall dripped down his cheeks and off his long beard, like he was crying brown tears. His floundering eyes met mine for a second, and he mouthed a cry for help. I stared right back at them, and my eyes sagged in sympathy and I reached out my arm to help him up. He reached out to touch it, his eyes brightening up like the angels were calling to him, and for the first time ever, he *smiled*… At the last moment I jerked my hand away and his face crumpled. I couldn’t help laughing. He looked so pitiful. So *pathetic*. Like a poor puppy. Kevin pretended to mop his head, which earned him another round of laughter. He sat up, helpless, blinking back hot tears as the brown-tinged bristles flopped over his face. Lloyd hooted and whipped out his phone. He knew that his social media ranking would shoot up tonight. People love it when we strike again. I grew bored of it after a while. It was still the holidays after all, and the fall wind ruffled our hair. My mind drifted to video games, or ping pong, or riding around in Kevin’s Ferrari. Kevin’s pops was never home for him, which meant we could do pretty much whatever we wanted. Kevin must have felt the same way, because he kicked Mr B. for the last time. Old Mr B. whimpered. “See you later, loser. I’ll get you a gift.” He smirked. “Perhaps a bar of soap!” With that he sauntered away, laughing at his own sick joke. Lloyd followed, his thumbs busy on his keyboard. I risked a glance back at him and he once again raised his head. But the glare he shot me was not that of a wounded animal. It was that of a provoked tiger, hackles raised, ready to attack. I couldn’t look away. He disappeared behind the trees, and I could still hear him aggressively mopping the floor. Yet I could still feel his steady glare boring into the back of my head and it gave me the chills. Kevin was still chuckling. “Did you see him? Crybaby!” He scrunched up his face and Lloyd hooted again. I tried to laugh along, but it came out in a weak chuckle. I couldn’t unsee the way Mr B. was glaring at me and my gut tightened. Kevin slapped me on the back, hard, and I flinched. “What’s the matter, Martin? No funny bone today?” He fixed me a hard stare, daring me to laugh harder, laugh *better*. I looked away, my gaze settling on some geeks on the sidewalk enthusiastically discussing Dungeons and Dragons. His fists clenched. His temple throbbed. The tension was broken by violent coughing. “Bathroom,” Lloyd said weakly. We turned to look at him. His face was pale and he was shivering. Kevin gave him a curt nod and he raced back to school. Then he stormed all the way home and I heard the door slam. I followed him and lay on my belly on my bed. I could see Kevin next door, muttering angrily to himself and fidgeting with the gold watch he had to buy himself for his birthday. Time passed. Something felt off. It was heavy in the air like a thick raincloud. It hit me like a ton of bricks about thirty minutes later. *Lloyd wasn’t back from the toilet.* I looked out of the window for the next five minutes. Still no Lloyd. I quickly sprinted all the way back to school and towards the nearest toilet. I could hear him coughing like a sputtered car engine. Then all was quiet, and when I went into the bathroom, I could see why. Lloyd was gone. Only his arm remained, sandwiched in between the cover and the bowl. Blood was splattered on the dull ceramic and crawled outwards towards my feet. I swore I heard that toilet burp. I backed away. The toilet glared back. Wet chewing sounds echoed around the cubicle. I finally tore my eyes away from the toilet, from the last of Lloyd’s arm slipping slowly into its murky depths. Then I dashed outside, screaming. And suddenly bumped into Kevin, who was leaning casually outside. Kevin took in my pale face, the way I was shaking like a leaf, and smirked. “The toilet ate Lloyd!” My cries bounced off the lockers in the silent hall, tinged with frustration. Of all the times Kevin was being Kevin, why couldn’t he believe me? Kevin threw back his head and laughed again. “*The toilet ate Lloyd!*” he mimicked. “Are you a kid like him? What time do you go to bed every night? Nine?” I stared at him for a few seconds, then without a word more, grabbed him by the arm. I threw open the door. There was no Lloyd. There was no toilet either. Instead the floor was covered with bloody prints. It was a considerable distance apart, like whoever made them had been hopping instead of walking. Furthermore, as I stared at them some more, it seemed to be made by a fully-grown *toilet*. A toilet-shaped hole was smashed into the wall, framed by mold and more blood dripping down the tiles. I turned back to Kevin. The smile didn’t leave his face. “See?” I didn’t know what else to say. How to get Kevin to believe me. My mind was working a million miles per hour, amputated by the chills shooting up and down my spine. I flicked my eyes again at the hall. Every wet chewing sound made my heart jump into my mouth. The sounds drew closer. It was like somebody was constantly rinsing their mouth. So were what sounded like heavy wet slippers slapping the floor. I talked faster. “We need to find the janitor. Maybe he could help us.” Yet his cold-hard stare bore once again into my mind and guilt seeped in. But there wasn’t any time left. I grabbed Kevin’s arm wrists so hard my knuckles were white. “Bring him a gift maybe,” I babbled. “We’ll all chip in. You can get something, and maybe your dad…” Kevin slapped me on the face. He grimaced, his expression sour. “Don’t you talk about my father again, get it?” “We’ll just find Lloyd,” he decided finally. He glared back, expecting me to argue, expecting me to mention his dad again. I simply nodded. He started out of the hole, but before I could scream he was gone. A big red tongue shooting around nowhere and curling around him, both disappearing faster than I could blink. My vocal chords unfroze. “KEVIN!” My voice echoed down the hall, together with Kevin’s screams as he was tossed roughly from side to side. I peered out of the bright bathroom to see a dusty silhouette stomping down my left, before the corners swallowed him up altogether. Then, as I listened, as I crept down the hallways my heart beating as loud as his screams, the screams…stopped. Replaced by… *Laughter?* “Kevin?” My voice was small. Like a little mouse. I followed the trail, the destruction that toilet-monster-*thing* was leaving behind, a long dribble of piss and blood. It was only noon—I think, time seemed to have stopped or quickened, don’t know which—but it felt like it was nearly evening. Shadows cowered in the corners, or swept across the walls in a dusty curtain. Occasionally sunlight trickled in, illuminating the suddenly-dim passageway. Suddenly the laughter grew louder, and finally I came across the toilet thing. Its back was facing me, and the silver flush handle glinted in the dying light. Kevin was sitting on top of the toilet. No, not *on* the toilet, but *in* the toilet. Literally. His lower half had melted into the porcelain, and his upper body was waving madly into the air. I watched in horror as he bent all the way down, burying his face into the toilet, and drank deeply. My mouth turned sour. I bit back another scream. “Look, Martin!” Kevin was giggling madly. There was a ring of urine around his mouth, like the smears of chocolate cake around a toddler. He waved his arms around again. His voice slowed down to a slur. “Isn’t this fun?” He opened his mouth wide, and every tooth was yellowed and rotten; and his tongue was pocketed and purple. I backed away, slowly, as the rest of Kevin sank into the toilet, and then the toilet turned round, opened its scarlet eyes and spoke. “Come. You belong down the drain with us.” I froze. I heard Kevin; but I also heard Lloyd, and now I saw that both of their faces had pushed towards the toilet, as if carved into the porcelain. Forming a rough triangle. With an empty space. *For me.* Then its tongue lashed out again, and I snapped out of my stupor, snapped out of the fear that was grounding me there, and ran down the hallway faster than I ever could. The toilet’s shadow stretched over mine. The walls shook with every stomp. *Thump thump thump* One of the doors was thrown open and I ran inside, glad to be safe now. Only to run face-to-face with Mr B. His face glowed in the sickly green light. “Hey,” I began. Red veins crept into his eyes, and he spat into my face. He gripped my shoulders tight, and prepared to throw me back out there. “Wait!” I was shaking. I was sobbing. My heart was throwing itself against my ribcage. I searched for an inch of forgiveness on him. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything I have done to you…” There was something in his eyes then. Regret, hesitation, a touch of that forgiveness, I would never know. But then he shook his head and grabbed me by the scuff of my neck, and threw me into this corner. I hugged my knees, snuggling into the darkness that wraps around me in a warm blanket. It’s been hours now, and my battery is dying down as I write. I wait with bated breath, palms sweating, heart thumping, wondering what Mr B. is going to do. He has been pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. The toilet hasn’t found this room yet. I can hear it stomping up and down the hallway outside, calling my name. Hearing Kevin’s and Lloyd’s voices rolled into one never fails to send chills up and down my spine. But I think Mr B. has made his decision. He has spent the last five minutes standing slightly outside the dying afternoon with two metallic trash can lids. *Please Mr B.,* I pray silently, my heart in my mouth, *for the love of God…* [Do not make any noise.](https://www.reddit.com/r/SimbaKingdom/comments/vpixk6/boo/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) [SK](https://www.reddit.com/r/SimbaKingdom/)

When I was 4, a demon tried to take residence in my body. (Part 1)

xye6fq

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xye6fq/when_i_was_4_a_demon_tried_to_take_residence_in/

I was raised unconventionally. My family never subscribed to any brand of organized religion, instead seeking solace in abstract spiritual concepts. Some would call these concepts “New Age.” My mother would call them metaphysical. I was a perceptive child; the kind who would see faces floating around in corners of my room, which I later learned were quite possibly spirits beyond the veil. I would have prophetic dreams, which would frequently and inconveniently blur lines between my sleeping state and reality. I would be visited in the night by curious otherworldly entities, and not all were friendly. My mother, who I later in life coined as the “kitchen witch” of our family, picked up on these happenings rather quickly. She took great care to please the friendly spirits who visited me in our home, and even greater care to banish the unsavory ones. Let me preface the following by saying this: I understand that there are non-believers and skeptics who will find all sorts of explanations for the first half of what I am about to tell you. Most explanations likely point to an overactive imagination combined with illness, and my family’s response to do what they did instead of rushing me to a hospital may appear to be dangerous, or even cruel. In regard to the second half of my story, if you have any logical explanations – please, offer me reason. I was four years old when I was visited by a demonic entity who intended to take residence in my body. In a matter of hours, I went from being an active, happy child to being nearly unresponsive and physically paralyzed in my parents’ bed. I remember feeling as though there was a silent, vacant space within my body, growing ever larger as the hours passed by - and something both foreign and unseen was attempting to occupy it. First, it began as a feeling of being watched early in the day as I played among the current bushes in the garden. Then, after dinner, I experienced a pain in my neck that quickly led to stiffness. Soon, I was unable to move my neck entirely. I complained to my mother who, at first, assumed I had been injured. As the evening wore on, the paralytic feeling in my neck spread to the rest of my body – down my arms, to my fingers. Down into my chest, and to my legs. My mother first thought I had contracted the measles, or some other illness from which my symptoms were a part. However, as she observed my actions and sudden change in disposition, she suspected that something more sinister was at play. As a child, I do not believe I understood much of what happened next. One moment, my mother was on the phone speaking with a man who’s voice I did not recognize. The next, a large, bearded man in a long, navy colored gown was in our home with my mother, speaking with her in the kitchen in a hurried voice. The man emerged with my mother from the kitchen carrying a series of strange objects: a medium-sized rattle made of a whittled stick and buckskin, a variety of small bags containing herbs and salts, and a pair of large, black, shiny crow wings – severed from the crow’s body to which they previously belonged. My mother, who has practiced an energy work called “quantum energetics” since the mid 60s, named this man as one of her previous colleagues. She asked me to be open and receptive to the “work” they were about to perform. My mother sat at the end of the bed with her eyes closed, both hands on my feet. The large man stood towering above me, and soon began to hum in words I did not know. As he hummed, my mother joined him in the song. My mother began to move her hands up and down my body, hovering a few inches above my skin. As she did so, the man rattled and chanted. After a few moments, he handed my mother the rattle, and began to sweep up and down my body with the two, large crow wings. Up and down, up and down, creating a whooshing sound with each pass. My mother flicked herbs and salts from the various bags onto me and around the bed. Their chanting and humming song grew ever louder, and I felt the strangest sensation of tingling all throughout my body. I could not resist closing my eyes, and when I did – I saw her. In my “mind’s eye,” as my mother called it, I saw a girl no more than a few years older than me. She was standing nearly 20 feet away in a dark blackness, with long, dirty brown hair and tattered clothes. Her jeans were ripped, and her pink and white striped shirt was stained and worn. I heard the chanting of my mother and the man, sounding like they were moving closer, and then farther away, quickly transforming to sound like they were in a distant room. As they continued to chant, the girl’s eyes met mine. They were glazed over and white, almost as though she was blind – but I knew she could see me. She looked right at me from across the blackness and began to make a series of strange faces, one after the other. Her mouth opened wide as her eyes opened wider. Staring directly at me, she stuck her tongue out, and then smiled a grim smile that did not appear human. I heard the chanting continue, now accompanied by the beat of a drum. The chanting grew louder and louder, and the girl continued to contort her face into strange expressions, faster and faster. After what felt like hours, the girl finally began to appear as though she was also hearing the chanting. She covered her ears, like she was hearing something too loud or too scary. She began to crouch onto the ground, hands covering her ears. She began to shake. Suddenly, from her crouched position, between the curtains of her long, dark, brown hair, she peered up at me with one last twisted smile and disappeared. The blackness was the only thing I could see before me, and yet, the drumming and chanting continued, now sounding as though it was coming from within my ears. After a few moments, the girl reappeared, inches from my face like a mother playing peekaboo with a child, hands outstretched beside her lifeless face, eyes wide. “HA!” – was the sound that came from her mouth, accompanying the attempted scare. At this, she dissipated into a mist among the blackness. Once this occurred, the blackness began to dissipate like my vision had been clouded by some foreign contaminant glazing over my eyes. The drumming and chanted slowed, and then ceased to a stop. My mother and the man were standing over the bed, looking at me as if awaiting the answer to a question that I had not heard asked. The man passed the crow wings over my body once more, and I felt the feeling returning to my limbs. The stiffness in my neck began to loosen, and I slowly moved my head from side to side. My mother let out a long sigh. The large, bearded man turned to my mother and nodded. They retreated with their strange objects back into the kitchen, and spoke in low tones, slower and less urgent than before. The large, bearded man left our house moments later, and my mother spent the rest of the night by my side in bed. The herbs and salt still littered the sheets. Something strange had occurred that day, and I did not completely understand it until I was older. I was used to seeing odd things and people in my “mind’s eye.” It was not until years later that I would learn, while not successful at occupying my body, the small demon girl had not yet left.

Behind the ivy vine curtains [pt. 1]

xy669l

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy669l/behind_the_ivy_vine_curtains_pt_1/

It seems every town has at least one location every resident knows in great detail, as if the place's sole purpose is to produce memories that won’t let you go, be it good or bad. For some towns it’s a classic restaurant that managed to stay untouched since the mid 70s, for others it could be a simple road that sparks dozens of conspiracy theories and supernatural hauntings. For my hometown, it was a place we called the “ivy green forest.” Miles upon miles of nature in its purest form. Large lush trees, rushing streams, and wildlife running free, all of which hidden behind a large tree line bordering our town. A tree line completely swallowed by overgrown ivy vines, all twisting into one another to form sheets of emerald green that stretched from the highest branch to the lowest blade of grass. Like large theater curtains hiding away the stage set to make endless childhood memories. It was like our own fairytale forest, where our imaginations could completely take over. It gave off a sense of mystery that almost frightened us, yet even more so beckoned us…Nowadays it just may be the source of my greatest fears coming to life. It was here where my friends and I bonded most as we created whole worlds in our heads, some of which contained storylines spanning years that were surprisingly coherent for a bunch of kids. The cherry on top of it all was “fort emerald”. A giant treehouse we had built out of scrap wood and old playground equipment. Not to mention lots of help from our parents. As we got older this “castle for the elite knights of the emerald forest” turned into a prime hangout for us to stash contraband during our high school degenerate stage of life. Many nights were spent there where we’d all just sit around and stare into the world around us, and let me tell you that forest at night time is something else, as if the place gains a consciousness of its own. It were nights spent here where our fear took the wheel, and stories of cults, monsters and murderers lurking within the forest were soon forged and spred throughout our school. This ended up backfiring on us as it led to some unwanted attention in the form of those…out of the ordinary kids. You know the kind I'm talking about, the ones who fantasize over gore and meeting demons, that kind of shit. The worst of them was a kid named Scotty Hoppids. Granted we didn’t know how royally fucked in the head he was at first but we found out quick. He actually weaseled his way into our friend group and was considered a pretty cool guy, putting on the face of a laid back party dude. That mask would eventually slip off every now and then however and he would share a bit too much…say his fascination with internal organs, or his interest with murders involving supposed demonic possession. It was when we told these little horror stories was when it got real noticeable. The way he listened to them was like looking at a mentally deranged child who believed everything he just heard was the 100% truth and it made him absolutely ecstatic at the possibility of experiencing them first hand. Once we told him he was taking everything too seriously and letting him know it was us who made the stories up in the first place he completely flipped out, and started saying we all cheated him, and that he would prove us wrong before storming out of the fort. At first we simply laughed it off as we occasionally spotted him late at night skulking around in a vain attempt to find the “emerald forest demon” or “the bangeler street butcher” both fictional inhabitants of the forest he was fully aware came from the minds of stoned high schoolers. This humor turned to annoyance with how often he’d come by our once secret fort…which then turned to disturbance as his attempts to make contact with these characters from late night campfire stories got more extreme. Sometimes we’d come to the fort and be met with remnants of Scotty’s failed summoning rituals, things like pentagrams painted on our treehouse walls, or weird symbols carved into chicken bones scattered about the forest floor. Sometimes though…sometimes we’d catch scotty in the act of a blood sacrifice, carving up his arm with pencil sharpener razors. When that happened we decided it had gone too far and quickly dragged his ass to his moms house and explained the situation. She was unbothered to say the least. It was clear she had no real interest in worrying about her son's unstable mindset, and it wasn’t long until we caught him yet again in the forest with his arms covered in blood, but this time it wasn’t his. When we got closer we could see that he had gut a local kids cat and pinned the poor thing to our fucking treehouse wall. In a fucked up way though Scotty was responsible for my current state of employment, as it lead us to calling the cops and in turn, peaked my interest in criminal justice that lead to a long reserved seat behind a detectives desk. Now after all these years this desk has called me back to that fantasy forest of my childhood. It wasn’t exactly my job to take, simply a case of the right place at the right time. I was back in town for the week to celebrate my little sister graduating high school when all hell broke loose and I got a call from my friend Eli, one of the other founders of our little fort. Like me, Eli picked up an interest with law enforcement, however unlike me he had decided to remain local. It’s not a big town, population wise anyways and one with a very low crime rate. The local police force has maybe 10 officers total only having to deal with the occasional disgruntled drunk or rowdy teen…so when a triple homicide gets called in they take any available help. “Sal it’s bad man…fuck it’s real bad” Was the first thing he said when I answered. Already an unsettling start to the conversation, made even more so when I managed to calm him down enough to tell me what the situation was and where exactly he needed me, only to be told three bodies were found at our old childhood hangout spot, and before I knew it I had been standing in front of the once cherished structure, now bound in overgrowth and yellow caution tape. A place once housing fond childhood memories was now the epicenter of this town's most brutal tragedy. The dejá vu only got more disturbing as I entered the actual structure to witness the crime scene with my own eyes. Three college students, two male, one female, all maimed to the point DNA tests were required in order to identify the victims. All three bodies had been brutalized into a display of limbs and stripped bones formed into a circle. The sight alone was enough to send me into shock. I’ve dealt with some brutal stuff in my time but…fuck never something so gruesome. My shock only grew as I realized I was looking at a calling card…the calling card of one “bangeler street butcher.” The very same butcher Eli and I had made up well over a decade ago. What was not part of our fictional killer's original M.O however was the message written in the female victim's blood, scrawled across the floor in the center of the horrific display simply reading “welcome home.” I certainly don’t think our fictional killer has gained physical form, frankly I'd prefer if it were some sort of paranormal phenomenon, because as of now the only lead we have is one more connected to me than I like admitting. A local who went off the grid years ago after being sent to juvie for animal abuse, and never coming back home. The same kid who took such an unhealthy obsession to our stories in the first place, one Scott Hoppids. I’m currently writing this at my new temporary office at our local station, along with a half finished bottle of my good old friend jack. I’ve been going through any files on Scotty I can find with little luck. I haven’t been able to find anything that could help, nothing I didn’t already know anyways, but I'm not gonna stop until I get to the bottom of it all. I feel this case is one that has to be placed on my shoulders, because I can’t deny the fact I played a part in creating this monster. Even if this all turns out to be a massively unsettling coincidence I can’t just up and leave knowing there’s a killer somewhere in those forests I once held so closely. According to Eli Mrs. Hoppids is still in town, so it seems we will be paying her a little visit in the morning. Not now though, I just need some time to unpack all of this…and probably the rest of this jack to cope with the fact I probably planted the seed for this all in the first place.

I'm a night groundskeeper at a golf course. I found the journal of my predecessor Part 3

xxwanb

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxwanb/im_a_night_groundskeeper_at_a_golf_course_i_found/

Last two entree here: [Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xp8u2e/im_a_night_groundskeeper_at_a_golf_course_i_found/) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xrwbd3/im_a_night_groundskeeper_at_a_golf_course_i_found/) When I came back to work the next night I’m not ashamed to say that I had a bit of a skip in my step as I went in. I was excited to be back working and making the money that I was. I had been sent a new offer letter from Levin and the figures on there were outstanding. I nearly burst into tears when I signed my name on the virtual document. I sat down in the same chair like I always did, but somehow it just felt more comfortable. The cushions felt more plush, the back rest felt softer on me, hell I couldn’t even hear the chair squeak anymore when I leaned back. I reached into the desk to grab the journal, but felt only the hard wood of the drawer. I looked down into it and flashed a light inside and nothing. I pulled the drawer out of the desk and examined the space inside. Still nothing. I was beginning to panic now. How the hell was I gonna get through this without the heads up from the journal? “Looking for this?” A voice called out from in front of the booth. I looked through the glass and saw that it was Levin. He held the journal up and was waving it around with a smile. “Come on man. I need that thing.” I said annoyed. “You need to keep your wits about you. That's what you need to do. This journal can only help you so much. When it comes to the real word, this is nothing more than ink on paper.” He rounded the corner and opened the door. He handed me the journal and then to my surprise, he took a seat beside me. He propped his feet up on the desk and leaned back and took out a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one. After taking a long drag and exhaling I realized that he wasn’t smoking a cigarette at all. He looked and tried to pass it to me, but I declined. “Look Martin, from here on out things are gonna get a bit more interesting for you. I’m going to need you to learn fast if you're going to continue working with us. This place, as you have seen, isn’t like any other golf course known to man.” “What, is it haunted or something?” I asked. “That’d be a fucking understatement. The function of this place causes a divide between our world and another. That divide is like a beacon of sorts to the denizens of that other place. Some are friendly, but most are not.” “Ahh, so we are like ghost hunters then?” “I wish, some of these things need to be put in the dirt, but our job is to keep the peace. We’re more like arbiters in a sense. If there’s trouble we try to fix it in the most amicable way possible. Sometimes a little compromise is needed on both ends. That’s where we come in.” “What about those dead animals you killed last night?” I asked. “That was the best solution to a mutual problem we’ve been having with one of the resident entities. Those animals were a bad omen and needed to be put down before they spread and became an even bigger issue.” “Who was the entity?” I asked. “I’ll show you. It’s about time you met the boss.” Levin got up and walked out the door and I followed after him. Just over the water trap by hole 2 was a small bridge leading to a different part of the wood. As we traveled the sparse vegetation became thicker and more dense. I felt like I was being suffocated by branches and twigs and the tall grass scrapped at my shins. Eventually, we came to a small alcove in the woods that looked to have been cleared away by someone. In that alcove stood a lone tree. Its trunk was massive, double the width of two men. The bark was a deep red almost that of mahogany, but the deep lenticels in the bark were a shade of olive brown. They moved and swayed as if the tree itself were taking deep breaths in and out. There was a wide slit that creased in the center of its trunk. It looked like someone had stripped its bark into a diamond shape. “Sir, I’ve brought our newest recruit to meet you.” Levin said to the tree. I looked at him and squinted. This man was addressing a fucking tree. I thought I was gonna meet the person that signed my checks, not something that’d make a great rocking chair. I was ready to just turn around and leave when I heard a raspy voice call out to me. “Be not afraid.” I looked back at the tree and I had to take a few steps back when I registered what I was looking at. Two eyes had opened above the diamond recess and inside the diamond was a very human mouth. The mouth was as large as the trunk itself. It looked like the thing could have me for dinner with only a single bite. The eyes were tiny in comparison, but they looked just as human. I was at a loss for words. “I am Gabriel, keeper of the divide. You must be my new hands, I so much have been needing another set.” He spoke slowly, almost like he had to fight for every word to come out. The eyes looked down on me. It felt like he was judging me with his gaze. “There is much work to be done, for he arrives once again, to tear into the divide.” Gabriel said. “W-who?” I managed to muster out. “The one who sings. I can hear it now. The orchestra of a thousand souls wailing in agony. The song will reach its climax soon. That is why I must employ you.” “What can I do? I just started.” I said. “Learn from the ones who came before. They will show you the way. However, he may try and trick you. Do not be deceived. To listen to his sinful tune is to be marked. Then you shall be his, forevermore, and made to sing. I bestow upon you a gift from the divide, a pennant for triumphs to come and ones long past.” A large branch slowly came down from the tree. On it was a gold watch. The metal shimmered in the moonlight. I could see the familiar gemstones that adorned it also. I took it and put it in my pocket. “Now go. Learn to be the hands I so desperately need. Heed the words of the past and covet the future with paternal love. I shall be watching.” With those last words Gabriel reverted back to the still tree he once was. I looked over to Levin, who had taken a seat. He looked somber, almost defeated. He pulled out his watch and rubbed his thumb around the ruby button. “So maybe a little warning next time? Didn’t expect to meet a damn tree god or whatever out here.” I said. “He's a bit much when you first meet him huh.” Levin said. “Well that's an understatement. What's the deal with the watches anyway?” I asked. “God from the machine.” He stated flatly. “And that means…” I waved both my hands motioning him to explain further. “Think of it as a get out of jail free card. You're in a jam, use the watch.” “How though? Any pointers?” I asked. “Well, they work differently for everyone. But generally speaking gold is fucked, green is really fucked, and red is oh my fucking god I'm super fucked right now.” Levin laughed at that last part. “But mileage may vary. Now, let's get back to the booth, you've still gotta job to do.” We went back to the booth and parted ways for the night. Levin told me to keep doing things as usual. That if any of the denizens needed my help that they would know where to find me. He also told me to be respectful. So, after meeting a damn tree and being given a magical watch, here I sit. I honestly don’t know what to make of it all. The fear is definitely subsiding though and I actually think it’s being replaced with excitement. Here I am in a whole new reality really and I actually play an important role in it. I won’t say that I’m at all ready for what lay ahead or that I wont shit a brick when one of these denizens actually comes knocking. All I know is when they do I’ll try my best. Until then, I've got some reading to do. The next entree reads as follows: *After that ordeal with the phone and the letter I decided to leave and stay at a hotel for the time being. My wife asked me about it and I gave her some bullshit excuse, she obviously didn't buy it. I think she suspects I’m cheating on her now and honestly I’d rather that be the case. Regardless of what she may believe I have to keep whatever this is from her and the kids. Even if that means being accused of adultery.* *I think after all that has happened quitting isn’t going to be a viable option anymore. That thing was in my house. Now I think it’s in me. The only way I can see to get out of all this, or at least get some answers, is to find this woodsman.* *So, once 11PM rolled around I got in my car and drove to work. The booth was just as I left it a few nights prior. However, that wasn’t where I’d be carrying out my shift. I walked right past it and into the woods by hole 5. I was armed with two flashlights, one mounted to my head and the other held tightly in my left hand. I also brought a collapsible baton just in case I needed to defend myself.* *The woods looked foreboding as I eased myself into the thick trees. It felt like the branches and leaves were pulling me in, like they couldn't wait for me to enter their dark depths. I shone my flashlight every which way causing the shadows it cast to jump around springing from one branch to the other. My eyes darting back and forth trying to keep tabs on what I thought may have been lurking within those shadows. I was almost in full panic mode before I decided to just take a knee and close my eyes to try and collect myself. It would do me no good panicking.* *Yes, I was scared. Yes, I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing.* *I took a breath. I inhaled the cool air of the night and felt as if all the anxiety I had would overflow in my lungs and they’d burst out of my chest. I exhaled and all the anxiety and panic went with it.* *Yes, I could find my way through these woods. Yes, I will find the woodman. Yes, I can do this.* *I opened my eyes and found a grassy path now laid before me. The trees on either side were outstretched away from the path, almost as if my very breath blew them aside to make way for me. I had no idea what happened. Had I done that or were these woods playing tricks on me?* *I saw dim light at the end of the path, it looked to be a good distance away. Not seeing any other options I started heading down the path towards the light.* *A soft breeze fell on my back as I started down the path. It felt like the very wind was pushing me from behind, beckoning me further into the unknown. The trees rustled alongside me and I turned my head to get a look into the darkness that lay behind their wooden bodies. I couldn’t see much, however, it wasn’t what lay behind the trees that caught my attention. It was the trees themselves.* *Instead of the thick brown trunks I was used to seeing, they were now thin and gray. They looked withered and leathery, really worn out. Something about them seemed familiar and not the good kind. The kind of familiar that's accompanied by dread. Like seeing a movie from your childhood that used to give you nightmares and keep you up at night. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I looked up and saw the many glowing eyes staring back at me.* *My headlamp illuminated the once mysterious creatures and I wish to god they had stayed a mystery. Their heads were far up into the canopy, but I could still clearly see their facial features. Their faces were just as gray and withered as the rest of their bodies. They wore huge grins that stretched across the entirety of their face. Their rough hair swayed from the top of their heads unnaturally. Like gravity was a mere suggestion.* *They had mouths as black as the spaces between stars, the light emitting from my headlamp was only food for the black abyss they had just under their glowing eyes. It was odd, their eyes were so full of intense light, yet they didn’t illuminate any of the surrounding area.* *I stood there for a moment both frozen in terror and unsure what my next move would be. They just watched me. Every one of them had their eyes fixated on me, unmoving like the trees they pretended to be.* *I took my eyes off of the creatures and glanced at the light down at the end of the path. It looked a lot brighter now and I could see faint colors of different hues dancing within the warm glow.* *I decided to just keep moving forward. I definitely wasn’t going to run into the thicket of those tall things on either side of me. So I walked and every once in a while I looked up at the creatures, eyes still fixated on me and still grinning.* *I kept walking along the path for a bit, but I didn’t seem to be getting any closer to the light. Nonetheless I kept putting one foot in front of the other and trying to keep those tall things out of my mind. I could hear my footsteps hit the grass as I walked along, everything else was quiet.* *Thump, Thump, Thump… I walked along.* *Th-Thump, Th-Thump- Th-Thump…* *I could only just hear it, but I was sure. There was someone walking just behind me. Their footsteps, only slightly out of sync with my own. I’m not sure why but something told me not to look back, to just keep on walking. It was as if my primal instinct to survive was telling me whatever was behind me was not to be witnessed.* *I looked up and the tall creatures were now looking just behind me and their grins had faded into angry frowns. Whatever it was behind me wasn’t welcome in this part of the woods, I assumed. Yet they still stared silently and unmoving.* *I don’t think whatever it was behind me had noticed that I realized it was there yet. So I kept walking and decided to change up my stride and hesitate just before putting my foot down. I heard it hesitate too, then stumble trying to regain its footing, until finally failing to do so and falling down with a huge thud onto the grass. I can’t believe it haha! I just made the fucking thing trip!* *I let a quick laugh escape my mouth. I looked up and the tall creatures again wore their wide grins. Seems like I wasn’t the only one who found that funny.* *The comedy was short lived, because a deep guttural roar assaulted my ears from behind. I decided now was a good time to start running. It only took the thing about half a second to catch up to me. I could hear the soft huff of its heavy breathing as we ran down the path and what I thought sounded like hooves closing the distance.* *I doubted I would be able to make it to the light in time and even if I did what then. The monster behind me would be upon me light at the end or not so I had to think of another way out of here.* *I pulled the baton from my pocket and threw it behind me, not even bothering to expand it. I heard a quick bonk followed by another roar, however the monster didn’t even break stride.* *Thinking I had absolutely no options left I pulled out the golden watch and pressed the gold button. All of a sudden a huge burst of wind blasted from behind me and swept me off my feet. The tall creatures came from all sides and positioned themselves directly behind me, pushing at my back along with the wind.* *I could hear the crashing of meat against itself and bones becoming dust as I continued to be thrusted forward. I heard another roar from behind me as more carnage ensued, but soon the sounds became distant.* *The wind and creatures brought me directly to the light at the end of the path. They sat me down softly and I realized the light that I had seen was actually a fire. A fire that danced and shimmered with so many different colors, some of which I had never seen. I took a step towards it, but was stopped by a voice.* *“I wouldn’t get too close. Fire will burn ya kid.”* *I looked to my left and there sat a lonely looking man, eyes staring deeply into the fire. He wore a huge axe strapped to his back. He turned to look at me and just shook his head.* *“Welcome to the woods kid. You're in more trouble than you realize.”* *There’s more to this entry, but I think I heard a tap at my door. So duty calls I guess. I’ll make sure to fill you guys in on the next entree and I guess what happens to me also. Wish me luck.*

I'm never doubting myself

xy5wcc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy5wcc/im_never_doubting_myself/

I lived in a relatively small town in northern America. Aside from the groaning teenagers complaining it was "*dead as hell"* there, everything was relatively calm. But *of course* theres an exception, what would the point of the post be? A few years back, I was hitting the bars with some of my friends when we all suddenly overheard the news broadcast talking about a little boy who got abducted, in another small village a few miles from home. Gone, out of plain sight. As if the alcohol wasn't doing enough to my wellbeing, news like these, my simply drunk mind couldn't handle. Thinking back, it seemed like the feeling was mutual between my peers and I, because suddenly all of us rowdy, drunks got quiet and didn't know better than to stare at the bottom of our glasses. So I excused myself and went to go freshen myself up. When I came back, I saw the peak of a livid discussion breaking loose in the group. As soon as they saw me, they all went quiet again. Now would be a good time to tell you that they were talking about the *grand mysterious* myth of our city, which I passionately hated. "The hiding deer". To be honest I didn't know the origins of it, I thought- probably some elders who were bored and started gossiping, but what I do know is that a large number of citizens believe there is someone, or rather something hiding in the ring woods. In order to get out of the village, you have to drive through a forest which is surrounding everything and out city. It is a good place for camping, hunting and hiking, but is not such a good place at night, when darkness falls upon it. Because that is when they come out, slowly and aimlessly wandering the woods looking for something to pick up. Sounded extremely cheese and lazily made up in my opinion, so I never believed it. But my friends were convinced that it was the "deer". The oldest of us, Nick, offered a solution to our disagreement. A bet. We could go out and see for ourselves instead of sitting and debating like "*fighting ladies"*. Drunk, cocky and stupid I made a goddamn, stupid, mistake. I agreed. First few steps in to the wood and we all felt happy, some of us laughed, joking around. But the deeper we got into the forest, something, and god do I not know what, but something changed. Now I don't know, maybe I was just imagining this feeling, but it felt off. Like we shouldn't have been there, not at that time or place. Interrupting my thoughts, Jared, the reasonable one, suggested we'd call it a night and all go home. I was about to speak when Nick loudly exclaimed that we could all go home, but he would stay and "find out" himself. Oh, how I wish I could've screamed, cried, begged for them to run out and drag them out of this mess, although I didn't. For *god knows* what reason, we all continued, when no one left. This next part is a frenzy, and hard to believe, even for me. There were four of us, including me. The other three were Nick, Jared and Ali. Nick was all bouncy and happy, racing infront of us, seeming to not get affected by the invisible atmosphere all the other of us went through. I saw him turn his back and give us a wide grin, for the last time, before he disappeared into the woods. When we all realised we couldn't see him anymore, we thought he was pulling our leg. We played along and thought he was going to come back. Until it went a few minutes and we realised he wasnt. A low call for his name, suddenly turned into a frantic screaming. As you might know from the pattern of the story- that everything is built off of stupid decisions, our next step was to split up. For a few minutes I could only see tree branches, darkness and the only voice, being my calls for Nick. Then I heard Alis screams coming closer to me, and a wave of relief washed over me. I swear I could see his face for a split second before his voice suddenly got cut off and, a thump. There i stood completely fucking stupid and started walking backwards. A mistake, maybe we are just drunk and we'll find each other again, I'm getting the fuck out of here, were the thoughts that rushed through my mind, trying to justify the act of me helplessly running out of the woods. Then I stumbled and fell as well. When I opened my eyes, and to this day that moment scarred me, I saw a shoe. A small dirty, bright blue velcro shoe, with yellow laces, a white sole and a sewed on "sticker" of Wolverine. Next thing, my hands flew to my phone as I dialed 911, screaming and, eyes filled with tears, running and running until the dispatcher promised that I was safe, and that help was on the way. Blue and red lights, a blanket over my shoulders and somehow I made it to bed. Next day our local news were flooded with the news of the three missing boys. The nearest reporter made their way to my door but I never bothered to open. A few days later I gathered up enough courage to get out of bed and try to go out. But the reminders kept coming. "Have you seen him", "Please help us find.." "Find ...". For closure, I returned back to the forest. It was prohibited from entering, since a police investigation was going on, but outside of the forest edge, three high mountains of candles, flowers and pictures of my dearest friends were flooded, in a way I will never seem to forget. In the end I realised I couldn't forget and that my small city was suffocating me with memories and guilt. Some nightmares and panic attacks later, I decided to move. As I am writing this I am far away from that city, from those memories. But let this be an important lesson for all of you all.

I've been searching for a lost and accursed videogame, called 'Polybius'. And tonight, I think I might have found it.

xxchnc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxchnc/ive_been_searching_for_a_lost_and_accursed/

The wind rustles the paper in my hand, and I clench it a little tighter to prevent it from blowing away. I glance down to it, then back up to the building before me. Faded pink and neon teal glimmer and flicker through the rising force of the rain. KAGAMI GAMING reads a sign above the door. The G of KAGAMI buzzes as it flashes in and out of focus. The colors of the neon reflect in the pooling puddles below, and in the dark, watery glass of the building’s windows ahead. …This is the place, alright. I stuff the paper back into my pocket and I stride towards the doors, grabbing the handle of the closest and hauling it open, easing my way inside. Met with a sudden rush of warmth, I stop in the entrance lobby and open the front of my jacket, dripping steadily onto the 90s style carpet beneath my feet. I look around apologetically as the door bangs shut behind, but there is no-one here to scold me. Despite the flashing lights and the whirr of the machines, I appear to be entirely alone. Arcade machines are stacked clumsily together in here, corridors between them created through careless chance, not by any apparent design. Some of the machines tower high up above me, way towards the ceiling and into the humming silver pipes in the shadows above. I think to call out, then decide against it, heading instead to the counter at my right. There’s a computer monitor upon it but little else. I decide to wait to see if anyone will appear to talk to me. Behind the counter and against the wall is a large glass cabinet filled with prizes. I drum my fingers against the desk as I look the cabinet over. Gumballs and Toxic Waste candies line the bottom shelf. 5 tickets apiece. Beside them, a Stretch-Armstrong toy: 30 tickets. And there’s some weirder stuff too. A pair of oversized, novelty glasses with ‘FOCUS’ written across them. 10 tickets. The lenses seem to shimmer in green and a bright, glittery blue when you move your head from side to side There’s a Magic 8-Ball in there on the shelf above. 500 reward tickets, is the cost for this. A lava-lamp too. 950 reward tickets required. A Nintendo *Gamecube*, 4440 tickets. *When did they last update this thing?* I wonder. Or perhaps the Gamecube was a deliberate choice. This place must get its fair share of retro-fans and old-school geeks. A lot of them would be keen to get their hands on something like a Gamecube, I should think. My eyes zigzag up the cabinet towards the very top, where the highest-cost prizes are kept on display. There’s a power-glove; looks like it could be an accessory to some old-fashioned console, but I don’t recognize the brand. And there’s an ‘EXIT’ sign in there too; a novelty one, I guess, looks like one you’d find above an actual emergency exit, except the little stick figure has a triangle for a head in place of a circle. Weird. This item costs 10000 tickets. ​ I glance back into the arcade. ​ Still, no-one. ​ Just me. ​ I lean over the counter to look at the computer screen, but the thing is dead dark. There are no lights upon the monitor and I’m not even sure if it’s switched on. “Okay then”, I murmur to myself, giving up, and leaving the desk for the arcade proper, making my way up the lobby steps and into glimmer of the lights. I weave my way through the machines as they beep and flash. I recognize a DDR machine. Dance-Dance Revolution. There’s a game with a plastic drum-set attached, and another with a similarly oversized keyboard. Many of the games are in Japanese, and as such both the title and the game’s rules are a mystery, but they whirr alongside their brothers, lights a-flash as they try to entice me in. But I’m not here for them. There’s only one game I’m looking to find, this evening. ​ …And that’s *Polybius.* ​ This is the place. It has to be. All routes have led me here. I pass by a claw machine and pause, taking a curious look through the glass. The claw hangs in place, and the interior is stuffed to the brim with little plush characters. I don’t recognize from which franchise as the characters all look rather generic. Just regular people, albeit a little more anime-ified. Their expressions are all the same, though. ​ …Unhappy. ​ Their mouths have been sewn into little frowns, their black little eyes stare out at me, and I shiver as I continue on along my way. I spend the better part of an hour searching the building. It’s deceptively larger than it appears on the outside, and has two accessible floors. My search yields no further clue as to the location of Polybius. The lost and legendary game. ​ I try again, taking greater care to track my route, but another hour passes and still, nothing. ​ And still I am yet to see a single other person. Occasionally a machine makes a unusual noise; or a pipe sends out an irregular creak, and every time I shoot a quick and anxious look back over my shoulder into the neon-sparkled gloom. Expecting to see the source of a footstep, or some strange figure, stalking me through the shadows… …But each and every time, there is simply no-one there. I keep as best a hold on my fears and my frustrations as I can, and I try for a third time. I stick close to the windowless walls at the building’s far side. Winding my way through machines. I pass, for the second time, a *photo booth*, promising fun and memories within. As before I pull back the curtain and look inside. …Nothing. Just as you’d expect. A seat in the centre, a blank, dead screen, and a buzzing overhead light. The other side of the booth is blocked by a second curtain. … …And this time, I am compelled to reach out for it. To step into the booth. To take the curtain in my hand and to pull it to the side. ​ …And beyond, is revealed a passage. ​ A passage marked by the dank and dusty wall on oneside, and the rear side of a basketball hoop-throw game on the other. Both of these ‘walls’ tower high up above me, and the passage leads away into the gloom. With an anxious swallow I tap the flashlight to my phone and venture forward into the unknown, pushing past the curtain and easing my way down this hidden corridor. To my right, the backing railings and barriers created by the basketball machine give way to their neighbor, another hoop-throw machine. This in turns gives way to dank and dusty wall in a mirror to the wall on my left. There are old, torn arcade posters plastered up against these walls, and I cast my flashlight across them as I walk between them, heart beating hard. There’s a poster for the classic Pac-man, though it is devoid of color. Black and white and greyscale. There are numerous ghosts, too. More than the familiar four, I mean. The image depicts Pac-man himself traversing a maze riddled with ghosts, and every single one is looking right at him. The poster beside it is for an early version of Dance-Dance Revolution. The faces of the teenagers on the machine have been scratched out, and there is what appears to be blood leaking from their shoes. A third poster along my way has been badly torn. The remaining edges, and what I can see upon them, imply that the text was in Japanese, and the corner of what looks like an artist’s rendition of a barrel suggest that this may have been a poster for the original Donkey Kong. A hole has been drawn in the barrel, and if I squint, I think I can make out what appears to be a cartoon eye looking back at me. It’s hard to tell. The colors have faded with time. ​ I turn away. Reorienting my gaze to the route ahead. ​ The corridor eventually opens into a room far smaller than the hall of the arcade proper, but still just big enough to get lost in. There are no doors that I can see. No windows. Just more arcade machines, shoved together and positioned at awkward angles. Their cables cover the length of the floor like jungle vines, and the lights overhead are dim and blue. *This whole room is a massive fire hazard,* I think idly as I step over and between these cables, tapping off the flashlight on my phone. The machines in here are stranger than the ones in the main hall. They are more unusual shapes. Their colors less predictable. I do not recognize a single familiar title. Some look similar, sure, but they aren’t quite right. There’s a Street Fighter knockoff, though this one is called ‘Bronx Battle’. I head over to it out of curiosity, and slide a quarter into the game slot. “PLAYER, START!” the machine proclaims in a voice so deep yet so sharp that I am taken aback with fright for a moment. I shake my head and collect myself, reaching for the joystick, but the screen shows me only a glitched New York landscape. A character select icon appears, and several boxes along with it… but the boxes are empty. I can move the character select window around the screen, but there *are* no characters. As I furrow my brow in confusion, the game ‘selects’ for me. The screen fades to black, and when it fades back in the 2D side-profile of a New York street is presented to me, but again, there are no characters. Several fighting sound-effects begin to play through the speakers. The screen flashes red, and every time it does so the joystick thrums and shivers. “The fuck?” I mutter, randomly tapping buttons in an attempt to ‘fight back’, I guess… but it is futile. In seconds, I am met with a ‘loser’ sound effect, and ‘GAME OVER’ appears on the screen. White text. I step away from the machine, unsure of what exactly it was that I just played, but whatever. As I said before, I’m not here for these games. It’s just Polybius I’ve come to find. My quest leads me around a corner and into a little alley created between two rows of machines. ​ The end is shrouded in darkness, and a single arcade machine stands there, half-hidden in shadow. ​ My heart leaps. I take a step towards it. *Can it be…* I can scarcely believe it, but there’s no denying it now. ​ *…Polybius.* ​ In all its glory. A heavy black machine with a single, semi-translucent green joystick, and four similarly styled buttons beside. A green diamond in the centre of the screen flashes in, and out. In, and out. Expanding and decreasing, over and over. ​ Over, and over. I head right to it. As if in a dream, step after step, closing in on the end result of my long, long search. ​ Polybius draws closer. A picture of darkness amidst such chaotic flashing and whirring. …But the flashing and whirring dims as I approach the machine. It becomes little more than backing murmur, if even that. It’s out of mind. Out of focus. Dulled, white noise. Gray noise. The flashes don’t even appear in the corners of my eyes as I take a long, deep breath. Standing before Polybius, the game of legend. And here I am. Successful. A winner. About to play what thousands have only dreamed of playing. I am fearful even to blink, afraid that if I take my eyes off of Polybius for even a fraction of a second that it might simply disappear from sight, forever. I place my hands upon its surface, as if to confirm that it is real. ​ There are stories about this machine. Twisted stories. Some said the game breaks minds. Some say it triggered memories that the players didn’t even know they had. …Some even said it caused seizures, but I don’t know how much I believe that. ​ We’ll see. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I don’t care. I have found it. I’ve proved that it is possible to be found, and that I am capable of great discoveries such as this one. I grab the joystick and press one of the buttons. The green diamond onscreen shimmers through a shining, glittering blue, then freezes… and finally disappears altogether. I am plunged into a silent darkness, and am conscious of nothing but my own breathing. In, and out. ​ In, and out. ​ And then the game begins. A low hum emanates from the screen, and ‘POLYBIUS’ appears across it, pixelated. Below the title, ‘insert coin’ appears. I do so with a shaking hand, and after I hear the chime of the coin being accepted into the depths of the machine, the screen changes once again. “Here we go”, I murmur with a grin, and the game begins. ​ At once my body goes cold. The excitement I felt is replaced almost immediately with a river of dread rushing through me, but my determination and curiosity holds, grim and hard as iron. I control a polyhedral green man. Comprised of lines that glow in the darkness. I am alone in a vast, black plain, and I am running. The horizon flows dimly from green to blue, and my character is running. I press the joystick forwards, and he runs a little faster. *This is it. I’m playing Polybius, I’m actually playing the lost game!* I lean closer to the screen until it encompasses my entire field of vision. “Where are we going, little man?” I mutter, as we race across the black plain. I pass by curious shapes and objects, all comprised of thin, glowing green bars. I try to interact with these structures, but there is no feature that allows this. So I just keep running. My eyes glance up to the corner of the black sky: SCORE: 0, it reads. There’s a little gray dot, also. A single pixel, perhaps, just hanging there below it. *Hmm. Alright.* I start tapping buttons at random. I push the joystick as far forwards as it will go. My green polyhedral man sprints through the void, and ahead, the sky begins to split. I squint and stare right at it, as the black gives way to a shimmering blue-green. I pass by more ruined, glitchy structures, and at last I pass through into the tear in the sky. All around me now is the glimmer. The graphics have warped and changed significantly, and I find myself running through an ancient cavern, all styled in black and blue and green. *Weird…* A noise begins to rise all around me. A haunting sound, a chorus of voices, though I cannot make out what they are saying. The sound frightens me. I struggle to disconnect myself from the game. I try to release the joystick and to take a step back, but I cannot do so. I am not even aware of there being any joystick in my hand. I cannot distinguish myself from my character. I panic, but I cannot keep myself from running. Ever forwards. I pass between enormous statues, rendering in broken parts and pixels from the black darkness ahead as I approach. I look up at them as I pass. Some have the rough appearance of people, though with ugly, blocky features. They all appear unhappy. A few have faces etched with deep, sad lines. Others are tensed in bitter rage; in anger. REX reads the pedestal of the statue to my left. JON reads the one beside it. I turn my head. CYN reads another, carved into the graphic of the stone. PRY reads another. I do not understand. ​ I want to make the game stop, but I don’t know how. ​ I look up ahead. Eyes watch from the darkness. Eyes of blue and green. Disembodied. *…Or… or are they? Are they connected to something?* Something begins to render from the black, fading into a deep gray. A sense of terrible doom threatens to overcome me. *It’s a game. It’s just a GAME. Just STOP. FOR GOD’S SAKE, JUST STOP PLAYING!* ​ …And then, with a sudden outburst I regain control and release the joystick. I tear my hand from the buttons as if shocked with electricity, and I stumble backwards from Polybius and crash to the floor, panting, and sweating. ​ Staring at the screen shows only green and blue pixels: jumbled, glitching from left to right across the display. *The fuck..? But- but it was so real… Or at least, if not ‘real’, as such, it was still… all-encompassing.* Whatever. I’m done, for now. I’ve proved the game’s existence. I had a go. I’ll be back. I’ll be back with everything I need, for now I just want to get out. The lack of windows is starting to get to me. Claustrophobia has begun to creep its way into my system. So I turn and scramble to my feet, hastily passing between the beeps and lights of the strange arcade games, stumbling my way across the heavy wires that trail the floor. I scan my eyes from left to right, looking for the way back. For that narrow, shadowy passage that’ll take me to the main hall, and in doing so my foot gets caught beneath a cable. “AGH!” I cry out, losing my balance. The floor rushes towards me as my stomach drops, I fall forwards… …And in doing so, I lurch myself *awake.* ​ … ​ I blink. All I see is the green polyhedral man, running his way across the black field. My character. I blink again and look up to the sky. SCORE: 0. That same gray pixel. *…The hell is going on?* I try to move. My character jolts. I can feel the joystick between my fingers, but… but why can’t I see it? When I try to raise my hand all I see is the green polyhedral man doing the same. ​ I begin to panic. “H-HEY!” I call out into the void. “HELLO? What’s going on?” ​ I am answered by nothing but the hum of Polybius. I try to escape. My character twists from side to side. I crash into the edge of one of those half-formed, glitchy green structures. Truculent. Skeletal. Impossible to tell what it might once have been, or what, if anything, it’s supposed to *be*. I feel a buzz reverberate through my bones, and I am compelled once again to head towards that split in the sky on the horizon. The blue-green shimmer between the black. *Is this a dream? Did I fall and hit my head?* I am once again running through the ancient cavern. 3D, low-quality graphics in black and blue and green. I am struck for a second time with that haunting chorus of voices, I pass between the same enormous statues, watching over me with their cold, stony eyes… To my left is the statue engraved with REX. Stooped. Hunched. Silent. Beside him is JON. Hands clenched at his sides. I swivel from head from left to right. There is CYN, a woman, I think, with stone hair draped over the side of her face. There is PRY, a humanoid figure with an enormous eye carved where her face should be. The statues frighten me now as they did before, and above… more eyes. Looking down at me. Shifting in the dark. I make it further this time. The music increases in speed, just a little, and gaps begin appearing in the floor. The floor itself starts to shift and roll, and I am forced to jump up and over and between to avoid falling down into the growing void that spills from the cracks. “Jesus CHRIST!” I shout out loud in alarm. “HELP! SOMEONE GET ME OUT!” ​ I pass by a statue with an arm missing, and a chunk lost from its chest. CRK, is inscribed. I pass another with its hands clasped before it as if in prayer. HPE, is inscribed. The eyes above creep closer. The thing that connects them begins to warp itself back into view, rendering slowly, as if through mist… *It’s a game. It’s just a game, or an unconscious dream.. Just snap out of it! WAKE UP!* I focus hard on the feel of the joystick. The buttons. Forcing my brain to accept that none of this is real. WAKE UP! ​ I blink, and find myself staring at Polybius’ screen. At the green triangle that glows beneath the game’s title. ​ I throw myself from the machine and turn from it at once, sprinting away, crashing into others in my haste to escape. I check myself and look down at the floor, watching my feet so as to be sure not to trip as I did before. I find what I am looking for, a shadowy gap leading away, and I run down it, passing by the disturbing posters as I approach the photo booth from the opposite side. I grab the booth’s curtain and draw it back, passing into the darkness of the void. ​ …I am still running. And I am unable to stop. ​ I look down at my hand. Green, blocky. I am running across the plains of Polybius. “NO!” I scream, turning around at once, trying to get back… But in all directions is just that same horizon. Endless black field. Glitchy green ruins. And the blue-green shimmer beyond at the horizon’s edge. The crack in the sky. And above: ​ SCORE: 0. ​ “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! HELP! SOMEONE HELP!” But there is no-one to help. No-one to respond. A terrible sensation of vertigo sends my head swimming; I veer from the left to the right and the blue-green shimmer shines brighter. I try to escape, but its like the horizon orients itself depending on which way I am looking, and after a while I am helpless to do a thing but to pass through it, and back into the hall of statues with its crumbling, shifting floors. I grit my teeth as I stumble from block to block, hopping over cracks, throwing out my arms for balance as the ground raises me up. I shoot a glance over to my right, now eye-level with the statue of CRK, with its missing arm and the chunk lost from its chest. Its stone eyes stare coldly back into mine, and the darkness shimmers and glitches overhead. I leap my way down the rise and crumble of the various platforms, looking for any sign of hint of a clue, or a way out… and as I pass by statue after statue I eventually come to what might well be the hall’s ‘end’, as there is a statue directly ahead, where there hasn’t been one before. He emerges from the mist. A forlorn and colossal figure in shades of gray and faded, mossy green sits before me upon an enormous throne. His eyes are sunken and his head lolled to one side. He wears a crown that has been carved from his head, and inscribed upon his great pedestal is ‘KNG’. *KNG…* I look up into KNG’s face as I run towards him, and in his face I see a reflection of my own. …My own face, reflected in the darkness of Polybius’ screen. I look down to my hands. I am clutching the joystick and hovering over the buttons. The muscles in my legs ache, they tremble and buckle at the knees… But I am myself. As I was before. I carefully release control of the machine, backing slowly and steadily away. I tear my eyes away from my own in the Polybius screen, and take cautious step after step towards the exit. I know the way back. “Please”, I mutter, looking down at my hands with every step, clenching them, unclenching… Tracing the metal of the machines beside me to confirm that they are indeed real. They are cold against my fingertips. My ears rings as I creep back through that dark, deserted corridor. Back past the posters and the rear side of the basketball games… I open the curtain to the photo booth with a wince… … …And inside I see the room as I expected to. A little seat. A screen and a camera. I allow myself a brief sigh of relief, then ease back the curtain that will return me to the main lobby. The view is the one I had hoped to see. A hall filled with arcade games all beeping and flashing. That 90s style carpet, the musty, fusty smell that greeted me upon my entrance. With heart still hammering I quickly cross the threshold, shooting a look back over my shoulder, at the vast black plains of Polybius and the blue-green shimmer on the horizon. ​ …I swivel back around at once, but my view remains the same. I am running. There are no arcade machines here. There are only polygonal green ruins. SCORE: 0 hangs above me in a cold black sky. ​ My head throbs, and with a painful jolt up my stomach and into my throat, I feel myself vomit… Though I cannot see any evidence of its presence, a sudden and strong smell wafts up and into my nostrils. “How the hell do I get out? What have I done?” I whisper to myself as I tear across that horribly familiar landscape. This twisted, ruined game-world. But I do not know. ​ I am stuck. ​ Over and over I play this game. I try everything I can to escape. I search as best I can the glitchy green ruins, and find nothing. I am able to climb to the top of one such ruin, and another glitches into appearance… But when I head over to this freshly generated wreck it simply disappears before I can reach it. Who even cares. It looked just the same as all the others. I pass through the hall, again and again. I make it to KNG again and put a hand on his pedestal. I pass right through him and find myself back in front of the arcade game. Reality blurs with the game as I struggle to tell which aspects are real. I feel the gaze of that terrible, monstrous shadow up above me… In the hall of statues, and in the arcade. I throw open the front doors to a green and 8-bit rain. I can feel its wetness against my skin, but when I try to flee I find myself running through the void of Polybius’ black plains. I lose feeling in my legs. They burn and throb with pain, but I do not know if I am even stretching them when I run, or if it’s all still a part of Polybius’ simulation. The SCORE changes. It goes up to 1. Then, to 2. And to 3. ​ Sometimes I am able to pull myself from the game at will. Sometimes I need to reach the hall, or even KNG himself. Sometimes when I try to escape I can make it outside. Sometimes I get lost in the arcade as my surroundings bleed into the black desert’s green ruins. Sometimes I can barely turn around… my head swimming as the lights of the backroom blur with the blue-green shimmer on the horizon. I reach the end of the hall for an unknown time, mind hazy as I try to pass KNG right by. I swear his cold, dead eyes follow me as I make my attempt. Is he, too, aware of the terror that lurks above us, creeping around in the shadows? No matter where I go I remain in the hall. Circling the final statue, until I slip and stumble from the game and into the arcade. “Make it stop”, I whisper, “please, just make it stop”. ​ I lose track of time entirely. ​ Alternating burns and shivers are sent shooting up my legs. Cramps in my waist, in my back, my hands come in waves and painful throbs. I have to grit my teeth and focus as hard as I can to even move in a straight line. Polybius plays on. It plays on, and on, and on. ​ …I don’t know what it is that triggers my new idea. ​ A last desperate grasp for freedom, perhaps? The unlocking of an old and forgotten memory? Or just some theory of a trapped madman, circling the drain. Whilst crossing as ever the vast black plain of Polybius, I am compelled to look back up to the sky. At the lone gray pixel that hovers there above me. It’s different to everything else. There has to be a reason for its existence. *But how to reach it? How do I get myself up there?* …I try to climb the green ruins as I did before. To get myself higher up off the ground. It’s a difficult thing to do, as I am constantly in motion and unable to stop for even a moment, but with every drop of my focus I am able to find the ruin I found before, to ascend to its peak, and as I do so another, slightly taller ruin glitches into focus beside me. I do not return to the ground, this time. Instead I choose to leap from where I stand and right over to a narrow little platform on the next. I land, and as I do so a *third* structure appears, this one slightly higher still. *Okay. I’ve got it*. My heart flares with a newfound hope. The discovery of a new potential path. I climb and I climb, ever conscious of the distance that grows between myself and the floor. I am brought around in a steady circle as I rise, and the gray pixel draws nearer and nearer. There is no wind here, and yet I swear I can feel a growing force of *something* against my skin, glitching against my hair as I leap my way into the sky from ruin to ruin. I land with a thud on the tallest of these ruins. A narrow little platform leads me forwards, and I tear along it, unable to slow down. No further ruins appear, there is only the pixel at the end of this platform, suspended in dead space. ​ *I am going to have to make a jump for it*, I realise. It’s now or never. ​ “COME ON!” I shout as jump from the platform’s end, hand stretched out as far and as high as it will go… …And to my bitter relief, my hand strikes the pixel. My surroundings change at once, and instead of falling the great and deadly distance to the black plain below me, I fall no more than perhaps two feet, landing with a stumble on a hard gray 3D-rendered floor. I look around, bewildered, and relieved to have at last come to a stop. My legs shake and my stomach turns, but I ignore these sensations as best I can as I look around. ​ I stand in a simple gray room. No windows, no doors. Just a room. ​ My footsteps echo as I walk from one side of the room to the other, and upon one wall is inscribed the message: **THANK YOU FOR PLAYING POLYBIUS. SEE YOU AGAIN.** **-DEVELOPERS** I walk towards it, heart beating, and I place my hand upon the wall. It passes right through, and so before I can psyche myself out, I pass the rest of myself through too, and find that I am standing before Polybius. I blink, and stare into the game’s screen. ​ **POLYBIUS**, it says at the top, and below it reads: **GAME OVER**, the text overlaid across a large green triangle. After a beat the screen changes, and the words are replaced by: **PLEASE ENTER INITIALS** **\_ \_ \_** ​ With a stiff neck I look down at my body; my joints crack as I do so, and I stare at my hands. At the popped and throbbing veins in my forearms, my white knuckles on the arcade’s joystick. The stench of the dried vomit splattered down my shirt wafts up to my nose, and I become aware of the dark stain of piss that soaks my jeans. “Jesus Christ”, I mutter, my lips cracked and throat death-dry. Every blink feels heavy, as if I might fall suddenly asleep at any second. *Is this it? Am I really out? …Or is just another trick?* With aching fingers I press in the buttons with my left hand, and enter my initials: **V D R** And the screen changes, flashing to a scoreboard with a long list of initials. I am at the bottom. The lowest score; with 10. The scoreboard starts to slowly scroll upwards of its own accord. There are dozens and dozens of initials, and some of them... I *recognize.* *The statues…* **REX.** 490 points. **JON.** 620. **CYN.** 791. **PRY.** 1102. And further up, **CRK** 3005. **HPE** 4400. And at last, at the very top of the leaderboard… is **KNG**. 9999 points. *These people... Were they like me? Did they all play Polybius too? And where are they now, why have I never heard of them, or of their accounts?* I do not understand what I am seeing, but I back away from the game, as I have done what feels like hundreds of times already. I turn and make clumsy step after step through the arcade. Down through the little passage, back through the photo booth, out through the main hall and through those front doors and into the world outside with a breath of cold, night air. It is still dark, but it is not raining now. Nor are there any puddles on the ground, or any evidence at all of recent rain. I shoot a fearful glance up to the sky, but I do not see a ‘SCORE’. ​ …I haven’t since, as it happens. ​ Though every day I wake up and expect to see it. Every day I awake, terrified that I will still be there. Still trapped. Standing like a soldier, in the grip of Polybius.

Always leave early, and always take the scenic route.

xxj86g

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxj86g/always_leave_early_and_always_take_the_scenic/

After I got married to my wife, we needed to get extra shifts in order to pay for the debt from the wedding. Since childhood, she had a dream of a big wedding but she ended up with a bride instead of a husband. Her parents refused to pay a dime towards the wedding, let alone attend. We still had a big party and a great day. But by paying for the party made us push our honeymoon off for six months. We couldn’t do anything big, so we found a nice bed and breakfast to visit in the country side. Four days off work was something we could afford after all the that overtime. Packing up the car, we got ready to head out early in the day. Only to get stuck behind the worst traffic in history. We couldn’t go anywhere for two hours. At least we found some good local radio stations. After we finally got on the highway, more bad luck struck. Our back tire burst causing us to pull over. This honeymoon trip felt cursed. Fixing it took a while but I finally got it done. I thanked got I remembered to put the emergency kit and spare on the trunk before the trip. By the time we got going again, we both felt starving and dropped by the first rest stop for something to eat. I wanted us to have been able to get to the town early enough for some sightseeing before the four PM check in time. We weren’t going to make it. After a call to the owners, they agreed to let us check in at any time that night. Susan was glad they were so understanding and relaxed a little after such a terrible day. With my bad eyesight I didn’t want to drive in the dark so my wife took over for me. We kept going over just how long the route would take and decided to use a short cut. The plan had been to take our time in the day and drive through some scenic small towns. Now that the tip changed to being mostly at night, the quicker way seemed better. Dinner finished and a plan set, we got ready for the night drive wondering what else could go wrong. As we drove further and further away from home, the songs on the radio changed. It started to drift into mostly country songs to nearly all country. Better stations would soon turn to static then fizz out. The sun already set, leaving us driving down a dark and empty highway. Not even the moon out to guide our way. The only light besides our head lights was a bright display screen in the middle of the dashboard showing us what country channel the radio got stuck on. I honestly thought having a screen was a hazard but at least slightly better than using a cellphone. Trees on both sides flew past. Aside from some trucks on occasion, no other cars were on the road. I always hated long dark highway drives but at least I wasn’t alone this time. Susan started to pass the time by talking about all the different kinds of pastries she wanted try on our trip. The place Susan booked advertised an abundance of bakeries in the area and that was the main reason why we decided on the small bed and breakfast so far way. It would be nice to get away, but to also gain a few pounds while we did so. A while into our trip, I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. I assumed it was dust on my glasses so I raised my hand to brush them off. When I fully saw what the movement was, I froze and my heart leapt into my chest. Sneaking across the dashboard illuminated by the light of our useless radio screen was a pale shape. A ghostly spider slowly taking small steps towards my poor unsuspecting wife. She didn’t like them, but I felt scared to death by them. I know they’re good for eating even worst bugs, but I just can’t stand the sight of one. I held back screeching knowing that might cause an accident from such a sudden and loud noise. As the spider moved closer to the driver’s side, I let out a small whine. “Hey, what is it?” Susan asked worried. I shook my head, pointing at the thing unable to speak. I was so scared my hand trembled and skin prickled every time the spider took a step. My wife finally saw what I was looking at. She let out a sigh knowing we needed to deal with this. But she didn’t want to pull over. With some difficultly, she slipped off her sandal while still driving to take care of the threat. I almost felt sorry for the thing when she crushed it, and took care of the body with some napkins I handed to her. She even tossed the corpse out the window for my piece of mind. That damn spider so big I heard the crunch. I no longer wanted to talk about food. “I’m so glad I married you.” I said with a long sigh, but still feeling stressed. “You eat my peppers so we’re even.” She joked. We made a good pair. I would gladly eat every pepper in the world if it meant she would keep any spiders from getting near me. I hoped that would be the most amount of excitement that happened during the drive. I kept glancing between the window and the dashboard fearing I would see another stowaway creep across my sight. We drove on to start seeing a fog hanging at strange angles outside. The headlights showing a pale whiteness through the trees. The rest of the world dark beyond what our lights could reach. Even the sky appeared pitch black. No light pollution this far out and in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t even see any stars because of the clouds. Seeing the spider made my nerves tense too much to sleep. My mind playing tricks on me making my arms itch from phantoms spiders crawling over them. I really hated seeing those eight-legged bastards, but hadn’t reacted this badly to one in a while. “This fog is weird.” Susan commented breaking the silence. “What do you mean?” I started to ask until I finally noticed what she already did. The fog wasn’t moving. I’d seen heavy still fog before and this wasn’t it. It looked far too solid. I frantically started to look at the patches of white over taking the trees and edges of the road desperate to figure out what it was. I almost asked for us to pull over to get a better look, and know now that would have been a mistake. A patch of the odd white fog stretched across the road from tree to tree and Susan kept going thinking it was too high up for our car to touch it. The roof snagged a part of the white threads and to my utter horror, I figured out it wasn’t fog right away. I let out a scream as hundreds of spiders spilled from the white threads and down the windshield. Susan screamed and nearly went off the road. She collected herself at the last second and start to use the wipers to knock the abominations loose. Countless of the pale white spiders clung to the side mirror and to the windows with threads they somehow attached. Their small bodies flying through the wind until they were finally taken away. I was losing it in that moment. I started shoving napkins in the AC vents thinking the spiders could get inside that way. My fear levels so high I was nearly seeing white and my entire body shook. I’m positive I started screaming and babbling nonsense but wasn’t in the right state of mind to remember any of it. My wife also very freaked out, but decided in that moment she was going to gun it. Her foot heavy on the gas to get us the hell out of there. We didn’t know what was happening, and what caused this all didn’t matter. We just needed to get away from it all. In seconds the heavy patches of spider threads became unavoidable. She tried to hit the smaller patches causing so many spider bodies to be crushed on the windshield it was almost impossible to see at times. I was dry heaving, knees to my chest and arms so itchy I wanted to die. The road became so slick with the spider gore Susan had a hard time driving in a straight line. At least we were the only ones on the road or else we would have caused an accident. I heard a voice repeating how this just couldn’t be happening. I was shocked to find out it was my own. I didn’t sound like myself. Susan’s face pale and sweaty. She needed to deal with trying to stay on the road and with a panicking wife at the same time. There were so many of those ghostly pale spiders that I could hear them being crushed on mass as we drove over the bundles of threads. The car made an awful noise as it struggled to keep speed with the sticky spider web coating it. Was this a punishment for killing every spider I came across in the past? I prayed that if we were spared, I would usher them outside no matter how much they frightened me. Soon, the headlights were showing pure white and barely any signs of the road in front. We couldn’t stop. If we stopped, those things could get inside the car. How I didn’t see any crawling across inside yet was a miracle. Susan started swearing and rightfully so. I did not want to die because of spiders. Give me any kind of death but that. I also didn’t want anything to happen to my perfect wife I finally found after an entire life of looking. The car made grinding sounds, begging us to let it stop but we pushed on. I saw a large shape in the mass of the threads too late to warn her. The front end of the car clipped something tall and thin, like a young tree. It smashed the right headlight and somehow, we kept driving. I heard a terrible rumbling noise coming from whatever we just hit. It was a sound I’ve never heard before and never wanted to hear again. It sounded like a pure dark rage. I thought it would follow us and I reached out to grip Susan’s shoulder thinking this would be our last moments together. We both let out a gasp as our struggling car burst through the final patch of threads covering the road and onto a perfectly normal dark highway. My wife did not stop to investigate what we just went through. The car couldn’t go the speed limit, but as long as we were moving, it was fine. As much as I wanted us to drive all night, the toll of it all finally came down in full force. I started having the worst panic attack of my life. At first I honestly thought it was a heart attack. My wonderful wife kept a cool head and found a motel only a few minutes away. She pulled in, careful not to let me see the webs still clinging to the car and got us a room for the night. She ushered me into the small bathroom. While she dealt with everything, I cried in the shower trying to wash off imaginary spiders until she had to gently get me out of the running water. I was so out of it I didn’t even notice she called the cops until I got dressed. The flashing lights sitting just outside our room waking up the only other person at the motel. She didn’t want the cops to show up, but after telling her story to the emergency operator, they didn’t know who else to send. Our car proof of what we saw. The motel staff and the guest found it all pretty interesting and no one wanted to get near the spider gut-soaked car. The cops tried going down the way we came from. They reported finding some spider nests and a whole lot of crushed bodies on the road but nothing like how we described it. They kept looking at our car trying to understand it all. Our honeymoon could wait. The entire experience put too much of a sour taste on the trip to follow through with it. We only lost the deposit on the bed and breakfast room and the cost of a car rental. We called a family friend to pick up our car then get it cleaned up and brought back. There was no way we were going to drive that thing home. In fact, I wanted to sell the damn thing as soon as possible. “Let’s do something less terrifying for our honeymoon.” It was the first thing she’d said on our way back home in a rented car and running on no sleep. I thought through the options and rejected ideas we had before settling ion the bed and breakfast. “How about that lame haunted navy ship sleep over in October we didn’t want to wait for?” I suggested. We both looked at each other and silently agreed that ghosts were way less terrifying than a hoard of spiders.

Brake Fluid by Doctor Bleak

xy3v3z

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy3v3z/brake_fluid_by_doctor_bleak/

I had an experience with a ghost. I think it was a ghost. It wasn’t bound to anything like a house or a grave. It drove a car just like you or me. It did so in the dead of night and it sought something from me when I worked at a Pizza place out of Dedham, Massachusetts. The incident itself lead to a car accident, I lost my job, and I haven’t been able to drive at night without sweating. This incident I am about to tell you… ruined my life, but maybe posting my story here will alleviate the pain somehow. At the time I had to make ends meet for my “weedy” needs and school textbooks. So I picked up this part-time job as a delivery guy at a local pizza place. It sold the best New York-style pizza in Mass. So you can believe I was on the road a lot, and being so young; I was on the night shift. The night this happened, it was shortly after a horrible nor’easter that covered the entire state in toddler-height snow and caused a lot of accidents, shortly before the Christmas holidays. So I was the only delivery driver, and it turns out a lot of people are pretty fine with risking my life for pizza. So was my boss, for that matter. He didn’t even bother to show up to work either. It was me and two other in-house workers that night. Joe and Ryan. This didn’t slow anything down though, I was in and out of the store starting at 5 PM and by 6 PM delivering orders. The air was calm and the streets were cleared and salted. It was all easy money. It was about this time that I saw a black SUV pull up behind me while I was only a couple of blocks away from my store. It didn’t seem suspicious at first. It was jet black, and there was no brand logo on the front of the SUV. I guessed a custom Ford Explorer or Chevy Traverse, at the time. As I got closer to my store, my eyes kept wandering in my rearview mirror. As if pulled by curiosity at first, and held there by a magnetic pull. Every time I looked away I wanted to gaze back up at the mirror to see who was behind the wheel. All I could see was darkness though. I finally closed in on the right turn towards the store I worked at and flipped my blinker on. This driver behind me did the same, signaling his turn into the same parking lot. He was following me in and when we stopped at the red light before turning, I attempted to get another glimpse under the street light. It was just a black silhouette in front of white lamplight pouring down through their moon roof. I looked away quickly and turned. Turning in, I zoom in to park in front of the store, watching the SUV move three car lengths behind me in the mirror. I parked in front of the store with a screech and nearly stumbled out of my car, but the SUV was nowhere to be seen once I got my footing. I stared out onto the parking lot at the empty spots and plowed snow. A flurry of snowflakes began to come down and I strained through it hoping to catch a glimpse of the pursuer. Nothing. No tire tracks, no lights. Nothing. I walked steadily inside and was happy to find out that orders were null. Both Joe and Ryan were rolling a joint right in front of the cash register. A good ol’ victory joint for this weird ass night. We shared jokes and hurried outside the back of the store to smoke behind the trash can. It had an extra four feet of cover from the snow. It made sure no one could see us. We puffed and passed around and I felt that buzz tingle in the back of my brain. It melted over my mind like a warm blanket and it made the snow falling that more beautiful. But I felt my euphoria drain from my brain like the blood did from my face, as I saw the same black SUV parked a short distance away. It was only fifty feet away from us, parked under a street lamp. The driver inside the car was illuminated by the light through the ceiling window of the SUV. The driver sat like a jet-black figurehead among white-colored seats, indiscernible and my eyes seemed to strain at it. Almost like I was forced to try and see it. I was clutching the joint between my lips as I stared through the smoke. They began to water as I strained to just get a single detail. It should have been close enough for me to make out some sort of detail, right? Ryan and Joe kept shit-talking until they saw me zoned out and not passing the joint. They kept asking something but I couldn’t understand them. My attention was transfixed, trying to identify the driver. and I watched as the driver’s silhouette head tilted suddenly. It jerked a hard ninety-five degrees, horizontally, and he didn’t even lift its hands up to move it. Its neck cracked with the movement and somehow my head heard every ‘pop’ as it moved. As if it was my own neck being twisted sideways. I jumped back, scaring my coworkers and dropping our joint on the ground. It sizzled in the snow and they both looked at me like I drowned their goldfish. When I looked back at the SUV it was gone and I began to sweat. I asked them if they saw the SUV but they just walked inside, and Joe just called me an asshole. I sulked inside thinking I was losing my mind. Finally all the marijuana I smoked throughout my life was finally causing my mental faculties to waver. I froze and turned to look at the joint on the ground. Why waste it? I thought while rushing back to get it. I picked it up and as I rose I saw the black SUV again, but its headlights were at me and it revved as if it was about to charge toward me and the trashcan. I quickly ducked behind it, throwing the mushy joint into my coat pocket and bracing my back against the trashcan. There was more malicious revving before I heard the tires screech and the engine roaring closer. It was approaching at ramming speeds! As the roaring engine was at its apex, closing in on my weak trash-can barrier, it suddenly stopped. I blinked a few times as I realized there was no car sound at all, but instead of looking to check I ran inside and rushed to the bathroom. All I could think of as I vomited was how close I was to being pasted between a brick wall, and a dumpster can. The image of my insides being squished out painted my mind and I reeled at the thought of dying to some unknown thing. I tried to change my thoughts. I decided to focus on the wet joint and pulled it out of my pocket. I gutted it and laid the contents into a paper towel I pulled from the bathroom dispenser. I then clutched it in my hand like a brown balloon and held the balloon under the hand dryer we provided in the bathroom. I waited for the papertowel to dry the contents as I thought about my drive for the night. I then had a strange thought. It was like lightning but I understood it. “Get ready to roll…” I heard in not my own voice. It pinged off the back of my thoughts and took center stage. “Time to hit the road!” again a voice not my own but I trusted it inherently. I grabbed the paper towel and tucked it into my jacket pocket before running out and getting the orders. When I looked at Ryan and Joe, they were red-eyed and forgiving of my fuck up. I got a second chance to ask about the black SUV which of course both denied ever being there. They asked me what took me so long and I handed back the weed that I recovered explaining my attempt at recovery. I was given pats on the back and fist bumps as I left, and I felt atoned for my crime against stoner-kind. I carried the pizza boxes to my car and loaded them inside, not without wildly searching around for my pursuer. Once I saw the coast was clear, I did a quick circle of the lot to make sure it was actually clear of all people. I saw no one, not even behind the large snow piles. It was 7PM now. The night was dark, and the roads seemed only to be lit by the piles of snow on either side. The flurry had added another foot or so of snow, making small ice walls on either side of me. As I drove through neighborhoods and listened to my podcast, I still jumped at any SUV I saw. At this point, it didn’t seem to even matter what color it was. As long as it tailed me for longer than five seconds, I panicked. I still delivered my orders, but one house I stopped at had a jet-black Ford Explorer parked up front with the lights on. I nearly had a heart attack before I realized it wasn’t the same vehicle. When I got to my last order for this trip, it was nearly 8 PM now. I had two more hours left on my shift and honestly, I really just wanted to go home. The last order was to a place deep within a wooded neighborhood. Every house seemed to have a massive forest behind it instead of a backyard, and each front yard had one or more trees. It was like driving through a winter forest instead of an HOA neighborhood. When I arrived at the address and got out with the pizzas, I took a glance around again to make sure no one was following me. Coast was clear, I thought, and I rushed up the driveway clutching three boxes in both arms. I rang the doorbell and turned to look again at my car and the surrounding road, and again, no one was there. When I heard the door open I turned back to see a small balding man glaring up at me, arms crossed, and face crunched down in a frown. He took the pizzas silently and then stared at me expectantly, tapping his brown loafer. He said I had forgotten his soda, and I realized that I had left it in the front seat of the car. With a smile, I apologized and told him so, then turned to go. I froze. Parked only a couple of houses away was the indescribable black SUV. I could feel the driver’s gaze on my forehead. It burned. I turned to the man and screamed at him, asking him if he saw the SUV. I pointed at it manically and he just…stared scared at me. The rage about his soda was gone from his face and replaced with fear. He responded quickly in a tone of concern, “I don’t see anything there…” I ran and jumped into my car, pushing the pedal to the metal and driving with screeching wheels. I think I hit forty-five in a ten-mile-per-hour neighborhood zone. The houses l drove by heard the noise as I raced as fast as I could away from my pursuer. The SUV was only three car lengths behind me the whole time. I felt that magnetic pull of the driver’s stare and I pushed my foot harder against the gas. The houses in the neighborhood…I don’t know when but suddenly we were just on a road in a forest. A road that curved and turned left and right and it seemed to never end. There were streetlights, I remember clearly because every time we went under one of the lamps I was forced to gaze at it in my rearview mirror. My eyes honed in on the creature and I saw its spotlight eyes gaze back at me now. Its yellow stare was veined with black and the pupil expanded in and out as it stared back. Its charred skin flipped open and close against the perfectly white leather seats. My eyes couldn’t look away from all of that flapping skin. At the detail of the interior. At the smile that was wide enough to eat my head whole. Then I heard my car crash against metal because I wasn’t looking at the road anymore. I didn’t black out right away but instead watched my world become inverted and felt my car crash against the trunk of a tree. I heard a voice again that was not my own which seemed to pull me from blacking out. “It’s time to roll…” it said, “We got work to do…” I started hanging upside down in my car from my seatbelt and watched the SUV pull up next to my wreck. The driver stepped out in its charred glory. The light of the fire glinted off his glistening flesh wounds. I could smell the smoke coming from my car. I guess the flip had caused a gas leak, and I was passing out. The Pursuer approached with an intelligent step, and it spoke now with its real voice. My god, I can remember it so clearly. I hear it in my nightmares. Its voice was like liquified shrapnel being hocked like a loogey. It snapped its head left and right wildly, a series of cracks as if a room full of people were cracking their knuckles. I felt my own neck tense in pain and I heard my bones crack as it approached. The smell of seared rot was the last thing I smelled before I passed out. When I woke up I was in the Hospital. I was told I was found on the side of the highway in the snow, car smoldering and destroyed, and safely away from the fire. I didn't tell anyone. I lied and said my brakes stopped working so I rolled out of the car and saved myself before it crashed. When I was questioned by the police, they informed me that the doctors found THC in my system and suspected that is why I crashed. I was given a DUI right then and there and the cost was exorbitant. My boss fired me with a text, but the man was an asshole so I didn’t really care about that. What is worse than being fired and a DUI? I thought a DUI was the worst thing that could happen but…The sleepless nights. I hear the cracking of bones every night I close my eyes. When I have the courage to drive, I shrink at the sight of every black SUV. I think I even see the black SUV outside of my window at night, parked down the street, headlights on, staring at me. I feel its gaze, and I try to tear myself away from the window but I sometimes can't. I stare for hours and hear the words, "It's time to roll..." and "We got work to do..."

There’s Something Wrong with Mary.

xxcq52

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxcq52/theres_something_wrong_with_mary/

I watched her walk towards the car in shock and fear. “Mary! Don’t…” She slowly turned around and gave me a kind, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, J. I’ll call you tonight, hmm?” Without waiting for a response, she turned back to the car. Why was I so worried? The reason sat behind the driver’s seat of the truck, with a Cheshire grin plastered on his face. Lucas had a reputation of not knowing the definition of the word no. Several women , and more secretly known a few guys, had whispered of trials and trauma at his hands. The fact that he had a police chief as a father made things no better. No one dared bat an eye. I went home, and waited (and worried). Finally, a light knocking came on my apartment door. There stood Mary, smiling her signature smile. I immediately wrapped my arms around her, eyes beginning to tear up. “Are we gonna stand out in the hall all evening?” She giggled, brushing past me and heading inside. Following her inside, questions began spilling from my brain and out of my mouth. “What the hell were you doing with that creep? Have you lost your mind? What could you two possibly have in common?” Laughing again, she turned around and gave me a knowing look. “Ew.” I said grimacing. I did not want the deets on that. We spent the evening as we usually did when we have a surprise sleepover. Laughter, delivery, wine, then bed. However, I awakened in the wee hours of dawn to Mary silently slipping out of the front door. I paused for a beat. We don’t have secrets. This woman knows everything about me. But do I really know everything about her? Especially since she’s keeping rather unusual company these days. With not another thought, I slipped on my shoes and my hoodie and slipped out after her. I caught sight of her heading towards the park. I sped up silently cursing every crunching leaf, every snapping twig. She exited the edge of the park and headed into the woods behind it. There was definitely something shifty going on. And I was going to find out what it was. I followed Mary’s semi-tangible shadow through the maze of trees and darkness until I could see a bonfire burning in a small clearing. When I got closer, I felt my stomach drop. Holding Mary by her neck, was Lucas. I began to run, but stopped dead in my tracks as Mary began to giggle uncontrollably. I didn’t know how she could breathe, let alone laugh. Lucas tightened his grip, in his eyes were a mix of cruelty and confusion. This only seemed to make her laugh harder. I then realized her face began to change. Her soft, round features became sharper, more angular. Her eyes widened and slanted, becoming the color of the night sky. And her teeth… her teeth became fang-like. Lucas, horrified, pushed her to the ground. Stifling a scream, I watched as she landed on all fours, her talon-like hands digging into the earth. “Luuuucasssss…” she hissed. Next thing I knew, she pounced on him like a cat. “Lucassss. How many lives do you plan to destroy with these filthy, filthy hands?” He was punching wildly at her, but it did nothing to deter her. Opening her jaw way wider than humanly possible, she caught one of his hands and promptly began chewing. Lucas’ scream filled the air, causing me to flinch. Angrily, Mary grabbed a handful of earth and shoved it in his mouth tho stifle the screams. “Shut up! You know you like it!”She purred. “ Isn’t that what you said as we screamed! As we cried! As we bled!” He was now sobbing, looking utterly defeated, and bleeding out no doubt. I stepped into the clearing and cleared my throat. Both their heads snapped towards me. Mary smiled slowly at me, while Lucas stared at me pleadingly. I smiled and nodded at her, spun on my heels, and made my way home. Something’s wrong with Mary. And that’s just fine with me.

I have driven down this road 100 times. Tonight it was different.

xxot03

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxot03/i_have_driven_down_this_road_100_times_tonight_it/

I have lived in the same area my whole life. A few years ago my mom got remarried so we moved about 30 minutes away into a bigger home that would be a more comfortable fit for our family. My grandparents ended up leaving their rental to take over our old home. This was nice because me and my brother would spend our weekends there and it was a home we were comfortable in considering we grew up there. Our new house was great but since it was in a different town the school district was different. I graduated high school a few years back but my younger brother is still in high school and he was not very keen on switching districts. He’s also part of the popular groups in school and didn’t want to lose his friends. So, after several back and forths with our mom, they came to an agreement. During the week my brother would sleep at my grandparents ( our old home ) so that he could stay in the school district. This was fine, but it meant a lot of driving for me. My brother likes coming home after school some days so I would drive to pick him up at 2:30 and then bring him back later in the evening. Needless to say, I take the same rout every time. I could get there with my eyes closed. I know every stop light, every store on the way there, every turn and every road sign. Tonight was different though. Its October now and fall is starting to come into effect here in New York. The weather has cooled down a fair bit. I was looking forward to the drive due to a stressful day. My brother texted me at 9:00 pm asking if I could come pick him up. He doesn’t have school tomorrow so he wanted to come home for the weekend. I texted him back letting him know I would be leaving shortly. I quickly got out of bed and put my glasses on. I only need them for distance and they help a ton when i’m driving, especially at night. I headed out the door and got into my car. I turned it on and connected my phone to bluetooth and plugged it into the charger. I rolled the windows down welcoming the crisp October air and turned up the volume to the radio. Everything was normal at first. There weren’t many cars to share the road with. I approached a red light and took that time to look out the window and appreciate the scenery. There was a slight breeze shaking the leaves on the trees that outlined the sides of the highway. They were still green but there were a few fallen leaves resting in puddles on the ground from yesterday’s thunderstorm. The light turned green and I gently took my foot of the brake taking one last look outside. I pressed the gas and began driving. Then things started to feel a bit strange. I cant really put my finger on it but an uneasiness took over my stomach. I gripped the wheel tighter focusing on the road ahead of me. There were no cars around. Just me. There was a small shopping center on the left hand side coming up on the road. That shopping center had the best Chinese food in town. The sign for the restaurant was illuminating the road with its bright neon green sign. Thats when I noticed the fog. It looked bizarre. It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen before. It was going horizontally across the road catching the neon green light from the sign. As my car got closer I noticed how strange the fog was. It was almost like I could see every particle making it up. I quickly drove through it and found myself letting out a sigh of relief once I made it out of the fog. I let out a nervous giggle to myself and continued on. A couple minutes later I found myself at another red light. Leaning back into my seat I looked out of the window. The trees stood still while their leaves shook from the breeze. Several leaves fell gracefully as the breeze came and went. As my eyes focused more on the trees I noticed something peculiar. The leaves were orange, some yellow. It may not sound weird, it sounds like your average fall leaves. The thing is, the leaves were green on the trees I passed ten minutes prior. The light turned green and I shook it off as me being tired. I had been so focused on the trees outside that I didn’t realize my phone had died and the radio started playing. I grabbed my phone tapping the screen. How could my phone be dead if it was plugged into the car charger? I put my phone down brining my attention back on the road. It was dark. Too dark. The street lights were not lit up like they normally were. I put my brights on to help myself see better and I let out a gasp. The trees on the sides of the road were rotted. I slowed the car down drastically, almost coming to a stop. My mouth hung open as I looked around me. The homes looked abandoned. The radio started skipping. I let out a scream as I heard a sound coming from the back seat. My eyes began to fill with tears and my body shook. I slowly turned around and relaxed when I saw it was just one of my nephews electronic toys going off. He must have left it back there yesterday I thought to myself. The radio suddenly stopped. I quickly turned my head back around. Silence. It was so dark. So quiet. What is going on I asked myself. I began driving again but I kept a slow and steady pace so I could take in what I was seeing outside. The road began to get bumpy. I started to notice the lack of houses and other landmarks that should have been in the spots that were now taken over by rotting trees. The road was not much of a road anymore but rather a rocky dirt path. My body was in a state of shock. Where was I? This int right. None of this is right I yelled out loud. Why was everything gone? Why were the trees dead? Where did the road go. I began to panic realizing my phone was dead and there was not a soul in sight that could help me. I was alone. Completely alone in a place I had never been before. I decided to pick up speed to get myself out of wherever I was. Surly there must be a road or something ahead I thought to myself. My headlights flickered and I noticed the same strange fog slightly up ahead. I closed my eyes as I drove my car though it. When I opened my eyes I saw green. Green leaves on the trees. I Felt a tear roll down my cheek as I took in the world in front of me. Suddenly, I realized my music was playing again. I tapped my phone that was sitting on the passenger’s seat and the time read 10:15 pm. I was minutes away from my grandparent’s home. I continued driving trying to collect my thoughts? Had I been hallucinating? I pulled into the driveway and texted my brother that I was there. He stepped into the car and I sat there in silence. I decide I would be taking a different way home from now on.

The Destiny of the Broken Is to Fall Apart

xxn9ca

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxn9ca/the_destiny_of_the_broken_is_to_fall_apart/

“The destiny of the broken is to fall apart.” I still hear his voice echo in my head. Not just in my nightmares. All the time. When I cut myself. When I’m bruised or sprained. I don’t know who he is or what or how he came to be or even if he is a he. I call him the Broken Man, because you have to give it a name. How else can you even begin to make sense of it? When I was a kid, my friend Todd and I stumbled across an old water tower in the woods, and what’s more, a ladder just tall enough for us to reach the bottom rung. Now what kid hasn’t looked up at a water tower and thought, “I want to climb that?” Todd and I were just such kids. Up we climbed. Around the catwalk we wandered. It was rusty and dangerous and we were just the sort of young and stupid not to care how much danger we were in, even without the Broken Man. Just being up so high, walking on such rusty metal was a bigger risk than I’d ever take as an adult, especially on a whim. But when you’re young, you think you’re invincible. When we got to the far side of it, we found the ladder leading up to the top, which naturally we climbed. The hatch leading inside was open and we peered down in. There was still a little water down there. Red from rust and stagnant, but we thought it was cool. We had dreams of making it our secret hideout. But to make it a secret hideout, you need to be able to get in. The idea was that one of us would lower the other in, and when we were done, one of us would boost the other out. That was the idea. Todd lowered me in, safe and sound, but when it was his turn to drop in, he came down hard and fractured his leg. I will never forget the cries of pain that echoed through that small metal room. We panicked. Of course we did. I tried to find a way out. Tried to call for help. No one came. For hours, we called, but we were alone. Too far, too deep into the woods. And then, as the sky began to turn its first hints of yellow and purple with the setting sun, we heard a thunking as if someone were climbing up. Excitedly, we called for help again. I wish we hadn’t. A figure appeared, jangly and awkward and moving not quite right. It’s proportions all a little off. He hovered silhouetted above in the early twilight. “Please,” I called up. “Help us, mister! My friend, he broke his leg!” “It is the nature of broken things to fall apart,” he replied as he dropped in. Upon hitting the bottom, his limbs popped off like some sort of crash test dummy. We both screamed to see a man fall apart in front of us like that, screamed until our voices turned raw. And in the splash of murky water, the fingers writhed and the legs kicked and the body slowly pulled itself back together with sickening pops and cracks and jerking motions. I… said some words my mother wouldn’t approve of, but she wouldn’t have approved of any of this. The Broken Man ambled his way to Todd. I tried to hold him back, though I couldn’t tell you where the bravery came from. I had never shown nearly so much spine in all my life before or since, but he cast me aside like I were nothing. He had no interest in me. I wasn’t hurt. But Todd… “Broken things, broken things. Such pretty little broken things…” he said in a slow, gleeful raspy whisper. Almost a song. When he laid his hand upon Todd, I could see the fearful tears in my friend's eyes. The struggle to be defiant, the paralysis that gripped him. A moment later, he fell apart. Todd’s arms and legs and head simply fell off of him, like a broken action figure. I vomited. The Broken Man picked up Todd’s pieces. Examined them. Left behind the broken leg. Placed the good parts in a sack he had slung over his back, except for the left hand. With inhuman, unnatural ease, he popped off Todd’s left hand, removed his own, rotten and disintegrating, and placed my friend’s new, unbroken hand upon his wrist. Pop. Click. Snap. Like putting blocks together. I pressed myself back against the wall, crying. “You’re not a broken thing,” he reassured me. “It is not yet your destiny to fall apart.” And then he was gone. I’m not sure if he climbed out or vanished or what. It was all a daze, my mind reeling, struggling to comprehend what I had just seen. I don’t even know if I stayed conscious. I only know I was found some time later, a gibbering mess. Todd, however, they never found anything more than his leg, neatly severed. These days, I’m afraid of every bump. Every nick. Every scrape. Terrified. How broken is too broken? How broken do I have to be for him to come for me? So I keep my body in pristine shape. But my mind… That’s the break I worry about most of all.

Strange and terrible things happen to students who make the English teacher angry. Especially those who touch her secret diary.

xxjn9i

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxjn9i/strange_and_terrible_things_happen_to_students/

Mrs. Hangyant was the kind of teacher you hoped never noticed you. To be the focus of her attention was to suffer in one way or another. She never praised students or even smiled at anyone. If she was looking at you, you were going to regret giving her cause to. She was an older woman. Her eyes were a little too close together, and her brow was a thick wrinkly overhang that cast a shadow on her eyes, keeping them always dark. Her white hair was wispy and thin. She'd have done better to go bald or wear a wig or something, but she just kept the same curly perm even though her volume couldn't really sustain it. She was the English teacher, but she sure as hell shouldn't have been. To her, teaching English meant exclusively teaching grammar. To her, English was simply a set of unbreakable rules. Worst of all, she hated fiction, and forced every class to write an essay on why made up stories are completely pointless. When I say "worst of all", of course I'm just talking about her crimes as a teacher. Her crimes as a...whatever the hell she really was--a witch, a demon--were quite a bit worse than making kids diagram sentences. One time a kid had his phone in class, and she caught him. This guy was a new guy, some kind of trouble kid who'd been bouncing around from school to school getting kicked out of all of them, so he thought he could handle any teacher I guess. But he didn't know Mrs. Hangyant. She told him "give it to me now, or lose it forever." And he wouldn't. She grabbed for it, and he wouldn't let go. They stayed there like that, each holding one end of it. And, to the surprise of every kid in the class that day, she let go. She let him keep his phone. And for the rest of that day, Mr. Trouble Kid was a bit of a hero in our school that day. That was short lived. The next day he came to school without his phone and looking like he hadn't slept. He refused to talk about it, in fact threatened to beat up anyone who mentioned it. But someone's mom knew his mom, and word got around that he kept squealing in terror in the middle of the night at the top of every hour. In the morning his mom found his phone smashed on the floor. He'd taken a hammer to it at least twenty times, judging by the number of dents in the floor. Was it making creepy sounds? Was he just having a nightmare? No one knows. But most of us are sure Mrs. Hangyant had something to do with it. He never carried a phone in school again. Another time--this time I was actually in class to witness this--she sat at her desk and she pulled out the drawer where she kept the diary, and she stared silently. "Who touched my Prayer Book?" she said, icy, still looking down at the drawer. That's what she called it. Her Prayer Book. And of course no one said shit. She made us come up one by one to her desk and swear we had not touched it. And she looked into our eyes and just watched silently, and then sent each back to their desk. Timothy Glass wouldn't look her in the eye. Like, he didn't even try to hide it for some reason. He just looked down at the floor. When he sat back down she had that smug smirk on her face, and he sat there visibly terrified, shaking, barely able to speak when called on. But she didn't accuse him. She just tortured him in his fear. Called on him a lot for answers, knowing he was too scared to focus. And he wouldn't look at her at all, and she kept saying "please look at me when I'm talking to you, Timothy." And he just wouldn't. At the end of the period when we were all headed for the door she came up to him and put her hand on his arm, like she was stopping him to say something to him. But she said nothing. She stared at the place where she touched his arm, intense, like she was concentrating. Then she smiled and waved him on his way. He walked out of the class like the rest of us. But later that day, during a presentation he was doing in physics, he dropped straight down to the floor in the middle of a sentence in front of the whole class. He died on the way to the hospital. Doctor said cerebral embolism. That's when a blood clot gets stuck in your brain and blocks your blood flow and you straight up just die out of nowhere. They can happen to anyone at any time as far as I understand, but they're more likely if you aren't moving much for a very long time. They blamed Tim's late night gaming. So on the day I walked by her empty classroom and saw her diary open on her desk, I certainly had good reason to keep walking and ignore it. Why risk it? I'll tell you why. My friend Riley is the nicest girl you ever knew. We've been friends since kindergarten and she's a goddamn treasure and everyone likes her because she's just one of those people who you just can't conceive being mean to. Most of the kids who Mrs. Hangyant punishes are kids who kinda more or less deserve it in a Roald Dahl kind of way. I mean, they don't deserve to freaking die, but you know what I mean. But Riley...no. No one messes with Riley. You just goddamn don't. Riley came to me one morning before classes started, looking mischievous. "I did it," she said. I asked her what, and she handed me a folder. I opened it and read what was inside. When I looked back up at her she was grinning. I wasn't. "Riley. Seriously. Don't. Please." "I have to stand up for what I believe in." "You suuure as hell don't." In the folder was her essay for Hangyant. The one that was supposed to be about the pointlessness of fiction. But she hadn't written that. It was exactly the opposite. A joyful celebration of the power and wonder of fiction. Riley was a writer, and she had been ranting to me daily about Hangyant's anti-fiction bullshit, though she wisely kept her opinions to herself while in class. She hadn't held back in this essay. Not only did she profess her love of fiction, her belief that it was essential to our human well being, she called out Mrs. Hangyant by name, calling her an 'ignorant witch' who uses fear to force her beliefs on the impressionable, the highest crime a teacher can commit. Today was the day we were to hand it in. After a quick glance at the hall clock and seeing that there was still a little time before class, I went into my backpack and I pulled out my own essay. "You've got fifteen minutes. Retype this in the lab and put your name on it. I'll tell her I forgot mine." She looked at me with a strange look, like she was just seeing me for the first time or something. Then she punched me in the arm. "Oh my god, shut up, no! I'm just kidding, Calvin!" She pulled from her backpack another identical folder and handed it to me. "I'm not going to hand that in. I just had to write it to counteract this bullshit." The title of the 'bullshit' was "The Inanity of Artifice". "God damn, Riley. Wow. You're going to get an A+ just for that title." "I know. I'm disgusted with myself. Don't read it," she said, and she snatched it away from me. As we came into Hangyant's class together, Riley was clutching a book in her hands as she told me all about it. She was still telling me as we sat, and even as Mrs. Hangyant asked us to take out our essays and lay them on our desks. She came by and picked them all up. And then Riley stopped talking mid sentence. She just stared at me. "What?" She didn't speak. She just leaned over the other side of her desk and dug in her bookbag. Then she got up out of her chair and approached Mrs. Hangyant's desk. I couldn't hear what she said, but Mrs. Hangyant wasn't having it. She was shaking her head. "Sit down, young lady." Riley turned back. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was holding a folder in her hands. I realised with horror what had happened. She had accidentally turned in the wrong version of her essay. The honest version. I looked up at Mrs. Hangyant. Though normally she would have taken the essays home to grade, her curiosity was apparently piqued by Riley's desperation. She had Riley's folder open in front of her. She had on her face a cruel smirk as she read it. "Whatever happens," I hissed in an urgent whisper, "*don't let her touch you!*" "Miss Dorset, please come up here." Riley looked at me, a quick glance, her face terrified. Pleading me to do something, or maybe just panicking. And I...I dunno. I had nothing. I couldn't think of any way to help her. Maybe that's just my excuse for being a goddamn coward. It sure doesn't feel good knowing I just sat there, right on the edge of my seat pretending like I was about to get up and do something, except probably I never even intended to do anything. "Is this essay a reflection of your true feelings?" She took a deep breath, and nodded. Mrs. Hangyant got up in front of the class. "Excuse me, everyone. Attention, please." As if the class wasn't already perfectly silent, already fixated on the situation unfolding before them. Each one of them knowing they were witnessing the next legendary story of Mrs. Hangyant's cruelty, each one of them absorbing every detail of it in order to tell it later. "I know you all think I'm pointlessly cruel. That I just punish, punish, punish people I don't like." She seemed to be basking in the drama of the moment, the awe of the kids staring at her. "Jason, have I ever punished a student?" Jason couldn't figure out how to lie to that. "...yes?" "No. Wrong. I *correct*. I correct those of you who are able to be corrected. For others of you, I have no illusions about my powers as an educator. Your correction is beyond me." She went to her desk, opened the special drawer, and brought out her diary. "For those of you who are beyond my power to help...I can only pray for you." She began writing with the fancy black fountain pen she always used. Scratch, scrawl, scratch. Then she stood. She approached Riley- Riley took a step back. She was heeding my advice. I hoped she'd run from the room, if required. As long as she doesn't touch her. I was certain that was the key. Hangyant changed tactics. "Miss Dorset, you came into my class carrying a book today." Riley nodded. "Fiction?" Riley nodded. The period chime went off. Class was over. Every student instinctively moved to get out of their seats, to flee. But she growled over the sound of that, a harsh and terrifying: "Sit DOWN. *Nobody moves*." Then to Riley: "Bring me your book. And then you all may go." *do it,* I thought. *Just do it, and don't let her touch you*. Riley did. She went to her book bag which she'd left on the floor next to her desk and brought out her novel. She brought it to Mrs. Hangyant, who took it. She flipped it and read the back, scowling. But her eyes weren't moving. Perhaps, I realise now, she wasn't reading. Perhaps she was just staring intently. I'd forgotten about the iPhone. I'd forgotten she could curse objects. I'd forgotten that no one--NO ONE--gets off scott free from Mrs. Hangyant. She handed the book back to her. "It's not for me to judge your reading material. I leave that to God." Riley took the book from her, careful not to touch Mrs. Hangyant's fingers as she did. And we idiots giggled through study hall, thinking she'd gotten away with it. How is it we hadn't figured it out? that that's exactly what she does to you. Make you think you got away with it. It was her genius. Her cruel genius. *** The next day Riley wasn't at school. She called my cell just before class started. She could barely speak through her sobs. "Riley! Where are you?" "I'm...I'm in the hospital." My heart dropped like I'd fallen out of an airplane. "Riley, no..." "I'm...I'm..." She sobbed again. All I could do was wait for her to get it out. "I can't see, Calvin. I woke up this morning and I thought I'd opened my eyes but it was dark. And then I touched them and they were open already. So...they don't know what's wrong yet. They're running tests. But...no one can tell us if...if..." She broke down again. What I felt first was boiling rage. I didn't ever think before that 'seeing red' was real, but literally the corners of my vision were a hot bright red, which was closing in. I took a deep breath, pushed the rage away. It scared me how angry I had gotten so quickly. I'd never felt that before. "I'm so sorry, Riley. Just stay calm, if you can. I'm sure it’s temporary." "You don't know that." I didn't know what to say. "She cursed my book, Calvin. She did this to me. And there's nothing anyone can do about it. She just did it because she's a vindictive bitch, and no one can ever stop her, and she'll never get caught." Fuck that, I thought. Fuck. That. *** It was later that day I was coming back from the bathroom, going past her room and saw her diary open on her desk. Her most secret thing exposed. Her weak point open to attack. I could just take a picture of the page it was on, and show it to someone. I could prove, if nothing else, that she was a hateful person completely unfit to teach. At the very *least* I could do that. And I could do it completely anonymously. There was only one line at the top of the page: *This wickedness I do in the service of the Lord.* Weird. Creepy. Somewhat incriminating, but not enough. I needed to read what came before this. I needed to turn to the previous page. To do that, of course, I'd have to touch it. I probably should not touch it. Without thinking I stuck out my finger and put it flat down on the page. As soon as I touched it I shuddered. I imagined I felt a kind of shadow, a kind of darkness fall over me. *This may well be what it feels like to get cursed*, I thought. Or it may just be a case of the willies. It may just all be in my head. Oh well. What's done is done. I flipped the page back, and I read. *...you will agree, Lord, that I did no wrong in this. I only barbed her temptation to partake of the pleasurable lies and sins. She chose to read, and so she chose to sacrifice her ability to read. The sin is not mine, it is hers. And I feel your grace upon me, oh Lord. I feel your favor, and I feel you speaking directly into my heart, and telling me what I have done is right and good.* I had to stop reading. I was starting to see red again. I snapped a picture of the page. Well, I was this deep. I'd already touched it, already cursed. I may as well read more. I flipped to the beginning. *Here, in this volume, as commanded, I confess my deeds and my sins, so that I may retain the power to enforce God's laws on earth. I submit to this book of evil, which I have gained from a source that should not be named. He in the darkness bid me do evil with the power he bestoweth upon me, and so I shall. But I shall betray him, for I use his evil in the service of the Lord. With fire I shall fight fire. And in doing so, I proudly sacrifice my soul to hell.* Well, there it is. She sees herself as some kind of holy batman. A dark crusader doing evil for good. And she had power, but apparently she only gets to keep it if she confessed how she uses it here in this book. I heard her in the hall. Her footsteps. They were unmistakable. Her quick gait. It made me jump. I knocked the book, it fell to the floor, splayed out open, face down. Oh shit. I grabbed the book and flipped it over. A pinch of pages had been bent by the impact with the floor. I smoothed them out as best I could. And I put the book back in it's place...but which page was it open to? I flipped around, looking for that final page. It shouldn't have been hard to find, it was probably the last page she'd written on. She was coming. Her footsteps were loud. I couldn't find it. I needed to get out. Did I even have time to get out? I flipped a random page and dropped it face open on the desk, and ran for the door. I screeched to a halt on the hard floor. Her footsteps were too close, only seconds from the door. No way I could escape without her seeing now. I ran back into the room. I charged my way towards the closet and as I grabbed the handle I realised it was absolutely the first place she would look if she suspected the culprit who'd touched her book was still in the classroom. Instead, as a flash decision, I darted aside towards the back corner of the room. I slid to my knees behind the desks there. Terrible. This was no cover at all. She only had to glance in my direction to see me hiding there behind those desks. The closet would have been better. At least there was a chance she wouldn't look. I looked back at the closet. Do I dare? Is there time? She came into the room. She stood there in the doorway, staring at her desk. Staring at the open diary. I held my breath. I held it aware that the longer I held it, the louder my first gasp of air would be as soon as I allowed myself air again. I continued to hold it anyway. She shut the door. I heard her muttering to herself, but couldn't make out what she was saying. She stopped dead, eyes fixed on the book. She stared, perfectly silent. Listening? She sniffed the air. No air in my lungs. The black of unconsciousness was closing in around my vision. With incredible restraint I allowed myself air then only because I absolutely had to. I tried to keep my breaths smooth and silent, but the air came in shaky fits I heard loud in my head. I hoped I wasn't being as loud as I seemed to be. She stared down at her book. Flipped the pages forward, then back. Thought for a moment. Staring at it. And then she looked up at the closet. But she wasn't really looking at the closet, I realized. With her hand on her open book, she was concentrating. She was ruminating, meditating. Reading from the book through her hand some information that didn't come in words. Information that told her of an intruder. Of a nosy student who'd touched her precious prayer book. She closed her eyes in concentration. Oh good fuck, was this my chance? Now, while her eyes are closed? Head for the door? I tensed my muscles, ready to run, watching her eyes. They remained shut. She started to hum, low. I went. I went quietly, but quickly. Straight for the door. She'd closed it, but maybe I could get out before she opened her eyes. She'd hear me leave, but maybe I could be gone before she'd see me. I was moving down the row, along the wall towards the door, watching her always, her head tilted upwards, her chin in the air and her eyes closed but only the slightest muscle action was needed to lift those lids and then she'd have me. At the door. My hand on the handle. I pulled slowly, silently, fearing the click. I wanted to pull as far as I could before the click, then I'd hit it. I'd run. Her humming intensified and grew louder. She was approaching a climax. DING. the period chime! I pulled. CLICK. I yanked the door hard open. I slipped out and I ran. I heard her growl of anger behind me. I heard her running. In the hall the doors of the classrooms burst open, spewing out students. The empty hall was full in an instant. I slipped between them, through them, kept moving, keeping myself low. I pulled my sweater off over my head. Thank God I was wearing one with a shirt underneath. Thank God it was a new sweater, not one I'd ever worn to school before. Into the trash it went. Sorry grandma. I was lost among them now. I was free. And she had no way of knowing who I was. *** So here I am with this evidence, though I’m not sure now what to do with it. It probably would be easy to get her fired with it, but that won’t solve Riley’s problem. Could even make it worse. I think honestly I’ve got to figure out a way to blackmail her into lifting the curse on Riley. Which is terrifying…but I don’t think I have a choice. In any case, I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do before she figures out it was me. I’m sure, eventually, she will.

All My Exes Die After We Break Up - The Curse of Hollyeve: Eric - Part 2

xxidln

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxidln/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/

[The Curse of Hollyeve Part 1: Colin](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xvwn3d/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzx4ni/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1c12x/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) Eric lived down in LA. He was a failed actor pushing 40 and somehow an eternal optimist.  Hollyeve showed up in Eric’s class in sixth grade. A mysterious new kid that caught the eye of the self described “shy loner.” “She was manic pixie dream girl before that was even a known thing,” Eric explained. “She was this little Zoey Deschanel plopped down into my rural southern Oregon hometown - sitting there in a flower dress, long black hair, big eyes. Sad eyes. I’ll always remember the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Eric drank $15 craft cocktails as he told the story like they were the oxygen he needed to stay alive and his eyes floated around the bar like a mad man’s. He was either crazy, or Hollyeve had ruined him over the years.  “First girl I was ever brave enough to talk to. I think because I could tell she was a little weirdo, just like me. I talked to her slowly and eventually asked her to be my girlfriend in the library. No one else seemed to want to talk to the kids who were reading sci-fi books and faking injuries to get out of P.E,” Eric went on.  Eric and Hollyeve started a “little sixth grade love for the ages.” A lot of handholding. Some kisses and some sweet notes, but that was it. She didn’t talk much or seem to really have much of an opinion on or memory about anything. She kind of just listened to him most of the time.  “I was definitely the typical 90s problematic male. Mansplaining everything. Talking endlessly about The Simpsons, Star Wars, Stephen King, video games, Monty Python, Weezer, and all this typical nerd boy stuff. I should have known something was up when she kept listening to my shit, really,” Eric rambled.  There was another odd thing about his young romance with Hollyeve. When people weren’t looking, she got aggressive.  “If no one was around and we were kissing she would bite my lip, draw blood. She would slap me out of nowhere. I don’t know. I kind of just thought ‘hey, I guess this is an adult relationship. I guess it explains a lot why I can’t keep one now,” Eric said.  Eric’s demeanor started to change. He started to get a bit wispy and nostalgic. “It was the best thing I ever had. I know we were young and I probably sound psychotic saying this, but I really felt like we had a connection I’ve never had with other girls, I know I shouldn’t, but I almost miss it,” Eric explained.  I wanted to know where Eric’s story went from here and was tired of hearing about his longings for whatever cursed little romance he had with Hollyeve.  Every girl he ever dated after Hollyeve slowly turned abusive on him. All the way from middle school up until his mid-20s.  Verbal. Mental. Physical. He got it all. Every kind of girl too. Even if they seemed like the sweetest thing, eventually they would turn.  He would even check in with other ex-boyfriends of the girls and they would all swear the girls never got like that with them. *It was just him.*  Eric explained he thought the problem may have been that he was drawn to women who looked like Hollyeve - pale, long dark hair, big sad eyes, detached demeanor. He thought that maybe if he found the opposite it would help. And he thought he had solved the curse. He didn’t. I’ll let Eric share the story in his own words from my recording.  *Her name was Jordyn…she looked nothing like Hollyever…short…tan…blonde…bubbly…full of life…natural smile.*  *We met on an app. It took a year of me avoiding girls like Hollyeve. I swear it was like they were drawn to me. I’d constantly get likes from girls who were way out of my league, but they were just exactly Hollyeve.* *Jordyn and I were perfect. She liked the same weird shit I did. Was like an extroverted introvert, which is like, so hard to find in L.A. You mostly get one or the other.*  *Things moved quickly because of all that. We were basically living together in a month. Happiest I’ve ever been. This nice, hot, positive girl is just hanging out at my shitty apartment all the time?* *Sorry, I struggle to even talk about her without feeling like I couldn’t have saved it, but after like three months, I’m thinking about marriage. Don’t say that, obviously but it’s in my head. Like how a girl thinks about her first name sounds with her new guy’s last name so quick…that was me.*  *I kept waiting for it to turn. I kept waiting to meet up with her at her place and have her throw a glass at me or scratch my neck for no reason. But, it just never happened.*  *We went on our first trip - a road trip weekend up in Big Sur. I splurged. Get this big cabin up above the rocks.* *The first night starts great. Good dinner. Good wine. Good scenery…good sex. I fall asleep without even realizing it.*  *I wake up in the middle of the night. She wasn’t there. I look all over the house and can’t find her. Start to panic.*  *I walk out onto the deck and look down at the rocks and rough water below. I wonder for a minute if she jumped.*  *I turned and saw her on the roof - standing up there in the moonlight. I was relieved…until I saw the noose in her grasp.*  *She started slowly walking towards me on the roof, getting right to the edge, getting me to shut up.*  *“Please Jordyn,” I pleaded one more time as she stopped on the edge of the roof.*  *“The rope isn’t for me. It’s for you,” Jordyn sadly so flat I almost didn’t register what she said.*  *“What?” I asked and stepped forward.*  *Jordyn jumped off the 10-foot roof without hesitation, her feet landing right on my chest. She caught me off guard and was able to pin me down in just a few seconds.*  *She slipped the noose on my neck before I could do anything.*  *I tried to fight. I’m not the biggest or strongest guy and she got the jump on me. She dragged me off the deck in the blink of an eye and got the noose around my neck.*  *I was suddenly hanging hundreds of feet above jagged rocks, the noose around my neck.*  *I looked up and saw Jordyn above me for one second as I felt the noose tighten around my neck. There was no sorry in her eyes. Just rage.*  *She walked away. Leaving me there, hanging.*  *Luckily I had grabbed the inside of the noose before I dropped and was able to wedge my hand in there enough to where I could keep it from choking me for a while, but I would eventually run out of energy.*  *I heard the sound of my car driving away. Jordyn had left me there for dead.*  *My only hope was a light I saw off in the distance. There must have been another house nearby.* *I screamed for my life. Straight for a good five minutes.*  *I heard a car pull up in front of the cabin. I wondered if Jordyn was coming back to finish me off.*  *I was relieved when I saw a man arrive. He saved my life.*  Eric was shook up. He said he needed another drink and a half before he went on.  He explained Jordyn connected with him the next morning apoplectic and apologetic. She wondered if he was going to tell the police. She said she deserved to go to jail. She didn’t know what happened. It was like something else took over her the night before and did everything and she could only watch.  Eric didn’t turn her in. He had been through this before. It wasn’t her fault. They just wouldn’t see each other anymore.  Eric gave up dating at that point. No more apps. Nothing. He had to be celibate.  He explained the worst part was the more he fought it the more Hollyeve’s curse tried to pull him in. The more women hit on him. The more beautiful women hit on him.  Eric and I shared some more drinks before I was nearly blacked out and had to excuse myself.  Any doubt I had about if Eric was telling the truth vanished when I saw him getting into his car in the parking lot.  I watched a sultry, dark haired LA beauty- easily could have been a model or actress - walk up to the awkward and out of shape gargoyle that was Eric as he got into his car in the parking lot.  She was throwing serious flirtations at him.  He smiled politely and drove away.  I watched the woman walk past me as she left the lot. Her eyes were as black as oil. 

I’ve been having some fun with my prosthetic eye.

xxgzao

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxgzao/ive_been_having_some_fun_with_my_prosthetic_eye/

Last year, I lost my eye in a car accident. I was devastated, and I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror without crying. That all changed when I got my prosthetic eye. It didn’t make me feel better about my appearance. If you took a long look at me, you would know it was fake. But the second l saw myself with it, I realized all the brand new opportunities. It started with stupid, small stuff. If I made quick eye contact with someone, I would wait until they looked away. Then I would pop my eye out, and stare at them. The next time they glanced my way, they were met with my gaping eye socket. The reactions I got were priceless. At a burger joint, the man I did it to almost choked on his french fry. The old woman in my doctor’s waiting room fell out of her seat. The best by far was when I was stuck in gridlock. The car next to me had their windows open. When the passenger saw me, she jolted so hard that her coffee splashed all over the windshield. I knew I was being a dick, but it was nice to have some human interaction. Even if it was negative. My girlfriend didn’t survive the accident, and all our friends started to avoid me after the funeral. It was like they thought car crashes were contagious. It hurt, and I’m still angry about it. But I don’t hate them for it. Who wants to hang around the one-eyed sad sack? I tried to make new friends, but whenever I felt their gaze rest on my missing eye, I burst into tears. I couldn’t bear to be looked at like that, so I settled with scaring strangers. Anything was better than sitting alone in my house. Of course, I got tired of it after a while. Startling people wasn’t enough anymore. I needed a bigger reaction, so I bought some blood packets off Amazon. The kind they use in movies. I couldn’t pull this stunt in places I frequented. Whenever I couldn’t stop thinking about Mary, I would google buildings with elevators in them. I would enter a crowded elevator. The second the doors closed I would grip my eye and start grimacing. Once I got my prosthetic out, I moaned and cried. When I was sure I had everyone’s attention, I squeezed the blood packet in my hand. Then I would start screaming while holding out my bloody “eye”. I got the reactions I was looking for. There was always yelling and cursing. One time a man fainted. Another time a woman vomited. There was usually a person that tried to call 911, which meant I had to run as soon as the elevator doors opened. Though sometimes, people would figure out I was faking, and then I had to run for a completely different reason. I had no intention of stopping, until I met him. He was standing by himself in an elevator. This didn’t stop me, because I figured one reaction was better than none. Once the doors closed, I started my usual act. But he just stared at me. When I escalated to screaming and blood packet popping, he just smiled. Like he was getting off on it. Suddenly, he grabbed the hand my bloody “eye” was in. Then he said, “You have the most beautiful screams I’ve ever heard. I can’t wait to hear more of them.” I pushed him away and pressed my back into the elevator doors. He kept staring at me with that disgusting grin on his face. I realized I didn’t have my prosthetic in my hand anymore, so I glanced at the ground. His eyes followed mine, and he found it first. He picked it up to examine it. His expression morphed from glee to pure rage. I thought he was going to lunge at me, and I put my hands over my face. But then, the elevator doors opened and I fell backwards. I jumped back up, and ran. I never looked back to see if he was following me. When I got home, my back ached from my fall while my legs were screaming from running down four flights of stairs. As I washed the fake blood off my face and hand, I couldn’t shake the feelings of shame. I knew if Mary ever saw me like this, she would be ashamed. If she had lived instead of me, I was sure she wouldn’t be wasting her life by endangering herself with ridiculous stunts. She could have made a dozen new friends without even trying. She wouldn’t constantly cry about stupid shit. I slept on her side of the bed that night. The next morning, I was drinking my morning coffee by my kitchen window. I noticed a car I had never seen before parked across the street. At first, I tried to tell myself that my neighbor just had a visitor, but that delusion fell to pieces when the window of the car rolled down. It was the man from the elevator. He gave a quick wave, and then held up my prosthetic with his other hand. I closed my curtains after that. At first, I was frozen. I wanted to do a thousand different things at once, but my body wouldn’t move. I considered just getting it over with, and meeting my fate head on. But the second I peeked out the curtains, I realized all the brand new opportunities. I spent the entire rest of the day shopping for the supplies I needed. He was on my tail the entire time, but I didn’t mind. It was more convenient for me to know where he was anyway. Though, I was surprised he never caught on to what my supplies were for. I triple checked my locks that night, because I couldn’t risk him interrupting before I was ready. I had a feeling he wouldn’t try that night. He seemed like the type to play with his food, but better safe than sorry. I worked through the entire night and most of the next day. Despite the grueling schedule, I was happy with my speed. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to soundproof a basement. Honestly, setting up the cot and detangling the chains was more of a headache. It will all be worth it after tonight. I’m going to leave my door unlocked, since I’m sure my new house guest is tired of waiting. I’m dreading the struggle, but I’m not too worried. A sledgehammer always wins over a knee. I know Mary wouldn’t approve, but anything is better than sitting alone in this house.

For the past few nights I've stayed at a crappy motel

xxqphl

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxqphl/for_the_past_few_nights_ive_stayed_at_a_crappy/

for context: I've always lived in cheap, poorly built houses; but last year we moved. it was the newest house, my boyfriend, my two cats and I have ever lived in together. it was nice, this one had a sturdy lock on the front door, all the cabinets still attached, and a working heater!! our first place that felt like it could be an actual home. we had all of our furniture in place by the next week, and we began to settle in. a few months went by before I noticed something a little odd, every week there seemed to be new cobwebs around the house. my boyfriend is an arachnophobe so try to keep our place cobweb free. Despite my diligent cleaning, it was never this bad at our old place. a bit strange but nothing too peculiar. more time goes by, we've lived there for about 8 months now and in our bedroom, something weird is happening there's been holes appearing in our walls. we don't use tacks or nails to hold our decor up because it goes against our lease. so it was bizarre that what look like nail holes have been popping up all over our room. so far there are around 6 that I've counted. and my boyfriend has noticed a few around the rest of the house. could we have just not noticed until now? this has to have been my boyfriend pranking me. it's only been around 2 weeks since I noticed the holes in my walls, and by now they've multiplied. what used to be 6 in my bedroom and a few around the house but now it's about 60 total. I don't know how he could be making these holes without hammering, but it's the only thing I can think could be causing them. Is he pranking me??? I feel like I'm going crazy, more holes just keep appearing. and when I asked my boyfriend about it he denied knowing anything and accused me of being the cause!!? I got mad and stormed off for a bit. am I overreacting?? a week later my boyfriend had to leave for a business trip which wasn't uncommon but it was his first one since we moved here, I thought finally I could get a break from these goddamn holes. but I was mistaken. holes continued to appear even though he was gone... I was dumbfounded. and I decided to cover up the most noticeable of them with tapestries. how could there still be more???? I felt awful, it definitely wasn't my boyfriend and I had accused him. I had really just wanted answers. My boyfriend got back today, and I apologized for accusing him and told him that more appeared even though he wasn't here, then when I lifted the tapestry to show him, somehow there were even more than last time! my boyfriend is convinced that it has been me making the holes and that I'm acting delusional! he said that if it doesn't stop he's going to consider getting me professional help, I am very worried now. later that night I couldn't sleep thoughts about how I might finally be going crazy were racing around my head. all of my anxiety twisting into that familiar knot in my stomach. in the early hours of the morning, I began to drift off. I felt a small tickle on my face, and assuming it to be a hair I went to brush it away. as my hand grazed it lightly I felt a rush of dread IT. WAS. A. SPIDER. I jolted awake desperately trying to get the wretched thing off of my face. waking my sleeping boyfriend in the process. he quickly turned on our bedside lamp. he screamed. I looked at him finally having properly flung the spider off. to my horror all over the walls where all of the holes had been. spiders. tens of thousands crawling out of the holes in our walls. tunneling out and spilling onto the floor. we grabbed our cats and ran out into the hall. there were somehow even more out here, completely covering the walls and ceiling. quickly the rest of the floor beneath us disappeared as we ran out into the kitchen, we felt the sickening crunch of spiders beneath our bare feet. as we attempted to make a hasty exit. we were both bitten several times. and holding a squirming cat each was proving to be difficult. as we ran from the kitchen my boyfriend bumped into the oven by accident, covering the side of him with spiders. he lost the very little amount of cool he had left and started crying. and we bolted outside. I've booked us a motel for the night, and I never liked the idea of motels I thought they were dirty and covered in pests, however, I'm no longer afraid of such bugs. i'll call the extermenator in the morning, for now i'll try to get some sleep.

I was Seven when I Almost Died

xwvktl

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xwvktl/i_was_seven_when_i_almost_died/

I would say it was the second worst day of my life. It was a hot summer day, and I had been begging my mom to go swimming in the river at the rear of our farm. Being too young to go alone, Mum had me wait ‘til Dad got back from the barn. He’d been training the new farm hands for the last month or so, so we hadn’t been seeing much of him. He would come in for dinner, which my mom always carefully laid out on the table at 6pm sharp. We’d watch some TV together for an hour or so, then I would be sent upstairs to bed, either to read or fall asleep. That day was different though. Dad had wrapped up the training, and we were ready for some family time. I had managed to get my mom to agree to order pizza for dinner, leaving us all with plenty of time to go down to the river. We waited outside for him; the second Dad walked to the gate, I took off into the woods, down the path to the water. I could hear my mom yelling for me to slow down; I looked over my shoulder, giggling to myself as I watched my parents chasing after me, smiles plastered on their faces. At that moment I felt free, and I think they did too. I ran like the wind, hardly feeling the thuds of my sandaled feet on the packed dirt, and expertly navigating the rocks and roots beneath me. I didn’t stop running ‘til I felt the sting of the ice cold river on my toes. I waded up to my knees, not daring to go any further until my parents were closer, breathing in the warm summer air. I could hear them laughing as they rounded the bend about two minutes later; their eyes were caught in a loving embrace, their hands intertwined as they smiled at each other. Then they took off, sprinting the remaining distance towards the river, my dad bellowing “I’m gonna get you Patrick, get ready for the splash of a lifetime!” I screamed in delight, and took off towards the middle of the river. I’d swam here dozens upon dozens of times. I knew the area like the back of my hand, down to where every rock was and where the biggest fish lived. What I didn’t know was how strong the current would be at the center of the lake on that particular day. It had rained a great deal two nights prior, and the downpours left puddles throughout our fields. Dad had said this rain was much needed for his crops - I remember him saying how thankful he was for it. However, in this case, it was a wretched thing. I had failed to realize that this would make the river higher than it had been in a while, much higher than I was used to. As I waded deeper, I caught my foot on a rock and lost my balance. I was sucked into the racing current. My hands flung around in a desperate attempt to find one of the boulders I *thought* would be there - however, they were all buried beneath the additional inches of rainwater that had mixed with the river. My attempts were futile. Water roared in my ears, and I struggled to keep my head up. I managed to scream, and could barely make out the cries of my parents as they took off into the water after me. I was thrown without mercy by the rapids, hitting my head several times on rocks as I sped by them. I managed to steal glimpses of my parents the few times I was able to surface, gasping for air and praying they’d be closer the next time. Each reprieve was brief, and I was swallowed by the river again, plunging into the murky water. I’m not sure how long this carried on. I was exhausted, and could feel my body giving in. I think I must’ve hit my head on a rock, because suddenly the world was black. It stayed like that for a while. ​ ​ When I awoke, I gasped and sputtered, coughing up the cold water that had been filling my lungs. I vomited with such force I thought I would puke up my guts. I could feel my dad’s hands frantically patting my back as my mom held my hands and cried. Eventually, I caught my breath and was wrapped in my mother’s arms. She kissed my head as I cried like a baby. I didn’t care how embarrassing it was, I was absolutely terrified. My dad carried me for the ten minute walk home, none of us speaking. I think we were all traumatized, and really, what were we supposed to say? There was something oddly comforting in the silence anyways; something about my father’s heavy breaths and my mom’s footsteps next to us made me feel safe and warm, despite the horrible chill I had from the water. They didn’t say much when we got home either. I thought they were mad, but now I know they were just scared. Losing your only child, or coming that close to it, would definitely be a lot to process. As a father of a young boy myself, I don’t even want to think further on it. The rest of that summer was spent at home. My parents forbid me from going back to the river, but I don’t think I would’ve wanted to anyways. I don’t really remember what we did instead, but I know Dad stopped spending time on the farm. He said he trusted his employees, and emphasized how much more important spending time with me and Mum was. ​ ​ A few weeks later, just before the start of school, a six year old girl, Abby Miller from down the street, went missing. She had been playing by the river with her sister, who ran off for a minute to chase their dog that had gotten off its leash. When the sister returned, Abby was gone. Searches started as soon as the sister got home and told their mom what had happened. All night I could see people with flashlights in the woods at the end of the field by my window. I remember my parents seemed oddly calm, saying they were sure the girl would be ok - but thought they were lying to me to avoid any further trauma. They lost their cool composure though when the next morning, there was a knock at our door. We had just sat down for breakfast, my mom walking to the table with two glasses of juice in her hands when we heard it *\*bang bang\** “Police, is anyone home?” The glasses slipped from my mom’s hands, shattering on the floor while she stood, frozen. My dad threw down his newspaper, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the stairs. *\*bang bang bang\** “Open up, Police!” My dad looked at me, wide eyed. In a shaky voice, he said “Patrick, go open the door. Tell the officers we aren’t home. Answer their questions, lie to them, do whatever you need to, but make sure they don’t come in” I stared at him as he pulled Mom upstairs, then I started towards the door. I opened it just a crack, and was greeted by a large man in a blue uniform. “Good morning son,” the officer said. He was quite round and rather plain looking, save for his icy blue eyes. “Are your parents home?” “No sir” I said, hoping I sounded sincere “Well, aren’t you a little young to be all by yourself?” he asked “No sir. I’m seven whole years old” I said, smiling up at him “I even know how to use the stove” This was a lie. “Well, tell them when they get home that we were here” he continued, crouching down to my level “I’m sure you heard little Abby Miller is missing. We just wanted to know if anyone in the neighborhood has seen her… have you?” I shook my head, “No sir, I have not. But I know I will call 9-1-1 if I see her, that’s what you do for ‘mergencies” At this he smiled, “That’s right kiddo, good job. But please, don’t use the stove when your parents aren’t home. That’s not safe” I nodded, and he turned on his heels and left. I shut the door, locking it behind me before racing upstairs to my parents room. I flung open the door, but the room was empty. They were gone. *“WHEREARETHEY WHEREARETHEY???”* my mind screamed as my panic grew. I didn’t see them anywhere upstairs, and raced back down to the main floor to see if maybe I had missed them. They weren’t there. I reached for the phone to call 9-1-1. This was definitely an emergency. Before I hit the final 1 though, I paused. My parents hadn’t wanted to talk to the police, so calling them might be a bad idea. I hung the phone back up, and sat at the kitchen table for hours, willing them to walk through the door. I couldn’t do anything but stare ahead, waiting, as tears unconsciously streamed down my face. Around six in the evening, there was a knock. They were home! I raced to the door, yelling “Mummy! Daddy!” and threw it open. Before me were two officers - the man from this morning, and a younger woman. I remember thinking she had kind eyes, unlike the first officer. They told me I needed to go with them, that my grandma was coming to pick me up at the police station. I was hesitant - my parents seemed afraid of them, so shouldn’t I be? But, they called the station from my home phone, and I talked to my grandma. She told me it was okay, that I could go with them. So, I did. When we got there, I was hardly able to step out of the car before Grandma ran up to me, wrapping me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. She cried and held me, while I kept asking her “what is it Grandma, what happened?” I wish I could say the rest of the evening was a blur, but in fact, it was the worst day of my life. I sat next to my grandma while the female officer explained to me that they had found Abby Miller around ten that morning. She was next to the river, on the same embankment I had been on mere weeks ago. I braced myself, already sad for the little girl who died. Except, they told me, she wasn’t dead. Abby had nearly drowned in the current, but made it to shore before she did. She happened to be ejected by the river right next to the site where my parents’ bodies lay. Their *dead* bodies. They told me they had been dead for weeks, based on the state of decomposition. “That CAN’T be true!” I yelled, standing up from my chair “Mum made me breakfast this morning! We are a normal family, no one is dead!” My grandma grabbed my arm, holding it gently but firmly, and pulled me into her arms as I sobbed. ​ ​ I spent years in therapy. Eventually, I accepted what everyone around me had told me happened: my parents were dead, and had been for longer than I thought. I was living alone for the whole month of August. They said it was a delusion as a result of my trauma, telling me that I imagined my parents being with me as some form of coping mechanism after their death. It all made sense on paper - no one had heard from them for weeks leading up to the discovery of their bodies, and it was reasonable to assume they had drowned while trying to save me. Except, there’s one detail I can’t let go of. I talked to Abby a few years after the incident; we were put in a lot of the same group therapy sessions, and became close for a little bit before she moved away. Abby told me it was my parents that saved her. She was sure she was going to die, being bashed against the rocks in the violent current. But, then she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up and saw my mother, who began pulling her towards the shore. She was then joined by my dad, who grabbed her other hand as they dragged Abby onto the sandy embankment. She said my mom held her hand and my dad patted her back as she coughed up all the water she had inhaled. They stayed with her all through the night and into the next day, right until a few minutes before she was found - just about the same time I was running around my house looking for them. Right when they had disappeared. I've learned to tell people that I believe my memory was in fact, a trauma response, that my parents had died and I had imagined them being with me that month. It's easier that way. But, in my heart, I know that’s not the full truth. They were with me that summer, whether their soul, spirit, or whatever, shielding me from the horrors of that day in early August. Eventually, they moved on to help Abby, to come to her aid when she needed them more than I did. ​ ​ I still visit the river from time to time. Recently, I brought my four year old son to the embankment for the first time. I let him tag along while I brought flowers to the spot my parents were found, the same site I visit every year on August 7th. As I sat on a rock staring into the river, remembering how they sacrificed their lives for mine, I heard my son start laughing. I looked over, and for a second, I swear I saw my mother sitting next to him making a funny face, and my dad behind them, watching with a smile. I blinked, and they were gone. In the car on the way home, my son said "Daddy, thanks for taking me to see Grandma and Grandpa. They're funny and sooo nice!" I felt my heart start racing. I wanted to tell him that he didn't see them, but that would be a lie. I know they're still there, still keeping watch over the river. Maybe some day I'll tell my son what happened, but for now I'd rather not. Instead, I looked at him in the rearview mirror, and said "oh yeah buddy? Tell me all about what you did with them"

There was something at my house and I think it followed my aunt

xxx7bg

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxx7bg/there_was_something_at_my_house_and_i_think_it/

We moved in a new house a few years ago, just renting it till we saved up enough to afford getting one. At that time I didn't have a job and was busy searching for jobs so I often stayed up late. I usually ignored any ghosts so when the first instance happened, I ignored it even if I talked a lot about it. "Hello" something whispered in my ear while I was walking down the hallway in the dark. I can still remember the pain the voice gave me, I almost thought that I would go deaf in the ear. I couldn't hear out of the ear for a few weeks and it took a while to even be able to properly hear something but I can still hear the feminine voice when I think about it. Nothing happened for a few months and I was extremely paranoid because I could feel something watching me. I wrote it off thinking it was my imagination when the next incident happened which caused me to huddle with the dogs in the lounge after locking all the doors. That weekend I was alone because my mom and step dad went to his dad, I was happy because I had the house for myself. I quickly finished dinner and ate, around 8 or 9 pm I kept hearing something calling my name outside. There was 3 male voices and I checked first in front but when I didn't see anything, I locked the front. Barely a few seconds after something called me from the outside again but at the kitchen door and I stupidly went to check again, nothing again. I was now starting to think that I was hallucinating or that I somehow poisoned myself, I wish it was just that. I then heard another voice from the back and I was just about to just lock it when the dogs ran outside to attack something. I was panicking because I didn't want them to get hurt so I ran outside with a baseball bat in one hand and my phone in the other with my flash on. I rounded the corner and shown my light to see what they are attacking, they were attacking the air. They kept jumping trying to bite something but it was no use. I was starting to get scared so I called the dogs inside and vigilantly looked around. I locked all the doors and hoped that they have already left. They didn't, my mom woke up one night saying 3 men and a women was watching her sleep. Now I started getting scared to be left alone and my aunt moved in with her family, 3 daughters and her husband. They were alcoholics and eventually their 2 youngest started calling me mom, I was 19 at the time and they were 11 but I didn't mind even enjoyed it. I had to stay in a room with them but after an incident with my step dad I left to my dad's who was living with my gran that is possibly a Satanist but what happened there is a story for another time. I moved back after a few months because even if my mom likes to think she is strong, she isn't but she's stubborn. We converted the study into a room for me because we were all starting to be fed up with 4 people in a room. I enjoyed my new room but once I moved my bed, I started hearing strange things outside. I was hoping it would be an owl or some other bird but I knew instinctively that it wasn't. When it was out, nothing made a sound. The dog that keeps yapping at night, silent. I started noticing that on nights it was out, my cat was inside but would watch the window. I calmed her down and took watch so she can sleep. I would listen as it prowled and when I was brave enough I would take a peek. I didn't even see one bird or anything, not even the bat's or some insects. The street light seemed dull and I knew it was nearby. I even heard it a few times coming into the yard and climbing on the roof, I could hear as it went up. I kept silent and prayed for the backdoor to be closed. Sometimes I was hoping that it will leave us alone and prowl the other streets but I knew it wouldn't happen. I then got a job soon after but still kept watch at night and made sure that my cat was inside. I then got a kitten, it was an instant connection with him and I fell in love. I was hoping that having a friend would help my cat that isn't used to dogs. They kept chasing her and I was ready to save her even if I got injured. We took her to work with us every day before we suddenly got fired. Barely a few months after that, my cat disappeared and the thing prowling the nights disappeared as well. Some nights I would stay up to listen hoping she would return but slowly I just started wishing she was happy or had a peaceful death. I then started having very weird dreams (most would consider it a nightmare) and the one night I had a very strange dream of my old primary school. In the dream 2 boys approached me, that wasn't my type, and for some reason I was enamored with them but I felt something was wrong so I kept trying to wake up. I couldn't and I started panicking. Eventually my best friend suddenly got hit by a car and I woke up. Usually I had more control over my dreams and when to wake up but at that time I felt helpless. I am not sure why but every time I think about I feel danger and relief that I woke up. It wasn't the only strange dream I had but the most memorable. I can still feel the fear that I felt. Slowly all those things started disappearing but once I forgot about them, they appeared again. My aunt recently moved out and I was glad all of the tension is going to be gone. I am now using the room my aunt used and we went to visit her at her new house when I felt something kept watching me. I think they attached themselves to my aunt. Anytime she visits us, I tense up feeling eyes on me but I can't see them. Some very rare nights, something is telling me not to sleep yet because something bad would happen. Those nights I just stay up and crochet, the only good thing is that at around 3 or 4 am the feeling disappears so I go to bed. It's been happening rarely since my aunt moved.